


friday i'm in love

by playingprince



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anxiety, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mild Sexual Content, Social Anxiety, music-centric, preppy rich boy renjun, tatted/pierced jeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:55:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26114524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/playingprince/pseuds/playingprince
Summary: Renjun thinks Jeno is like music: beautiful, unattainable, untouchable.Or: Jeno works at a record shop, and it takes a little push to get Renjun to stop staring at him through the window and finally speak.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Lee Jeno
Comments: 78
Kudos: 432
Collections: CAS summer 2020 games





	friday i'm in love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [renjunsfairydust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/renjunsfairydust/gifts).



> this fic was written as part of a fic exchange -- see the collection for the other works!
> 
> this one was written for my dear [elle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/renjunsfairydust). i hope you enjoy, and i hope i did your prompt justice!
> 
> warnings again for depictions of anxiety/social anxiety, and some mild sexual content. this isn't smut, but things get a little frisky. qualifies as nsfw.
> 
> [🎵 playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4vXltqYoZnmnHpqhJm1B0t)

The record shop was on the corner. Renjun had passed by it about a thousand times, because on the other side of it was the sandwich shop where he liked to stop after school to eat with his friends before going home for the night. Once Renjun got used to a place, he didn’t like to change it up. That would mean relearning The Process. In his year and a half of college, he only frequented one on-campus cafe and no dining halls, because going to the dining hall meant approaching a worker he’d never met and reading a menu he’d never read and probably screwing up as he ordered in front of the entire line, and he couldn’t think of anything more embarrassing. He needed things to be familiar. He needed a routine, where he could walk up to the counter and order the same thing he always did, without surprises or slip-ups or strangers. Usually, his friends understood this about him. It was just a little “quirk” he had, no big deal. What they did not understand was that it _was_ a big deal to him. His palms would begin to sweat and his entire face would get hot and his heart would beat so hard it was like it was trying to bruise itself, like it was trying to sabotage any chance he had at making a change in his life.

And so, it seemed Yangyang did not realize the harm he was causing when he said one day, after they’d had an early dinner at the sandwich shop, “Hey. Let’s stop in at the record store for a sec.”

The two of them stood on the sidewalk, halfway between the shopfronts. Renjun twisted the strap of his messenger bag, fingertips fiddling with its black plastic buckle. Familiar hard lines, the familiar curve along one edge. When he was in elementary school, he’d always sucked on the aglets of his favorite hoodie. His mother had scolded him time after time — “Renjun, that’s icky, you’re too old to be putting stuff in your mouth like that” — until he’d finally broken the habit in middle school, when he’d determined that if the other kids saw him doing it, it would only make his anxiety worse. Now he had his little plastic buckle. Something less obvious.

“I don’t know,” Renjun said weakly. He could never give a straight no. “I should really get home. I’ve got work I need to do tonight.”

“Come on, it’ll only take a few minutes. I just wanna see what their selection is like.” Yangyang drifted closer to the display window, tilting his head to peer through the dusty glass. “Besides. You know who works here, don’t you?” He looked back, and waggled an eyebrow.

Renjun turned pointedly away and stared toward the setting sun instead. Yangyang was trying to lure him in, but he wouldn’t fall for it.

The boy that worked at the record shop was beautiful. Everytime Renjun passed by the shop, he would find himself mesmerized, gaze dragging over the window, trying to take in every detail of him where he sat behind the front desk, usually reading a book or stacking a vinyl sleeve in the half-dark of the dimly lit store. He looked like a prince, but not the kind in a story book. More like a prince rendered in bleeding black ink. He was a tattoo, all heavy lines and sharp edges. He probably had a few tattoos himself, Renjun thought, because he’d thought he’d seen one poking from the bottom of his t-shirt sleeve once, though he’d been too far away to tell for sure. Renjun was at least certain that the boy had an assortment of piercings in each ear, and a ring threaded through his right brow, because the light had caught it just right once and it had looked like a pretty gem decorating his face. Renjun had not been able to stop thinking about the eyebrow ring for the rest of the day. He’d wondered if it had hurt to get it. He’d wondered if he could ever have the courage to get one himself.

The record shop boy also went to Reddings University, like Renjun and Yangyang did. Renjun had seen him around the campus before, though they’d never had any classes together. He didn’t even know the boy’s name. But that didn’t stop him from being fascinated by him. One time, they’d seen the boy sipping on a latte at a table as they’d stood in line at the cafe, and Yangyang had caught Renjun’s lingering stare and asked, “Do you know him?”

“No,” Renjun had answered, and in a rare act of bravery, had added, “He’s… he’s kind of cute, right?”

“Oh. Do you like him?”

“I don’t know him,” Renjun had reiterated, gently stroking his sideburns in embarrassment.

“You don’t have to know someone to have a crush on them,” Yangyang had said.

The clouds were pink and the sky was amber. The sun touched the roof of a building, and it seemed very close and very far away at the same time.

“You know,” Yangyang said quietly to Renjun’s cold shoulder, “sometimes, when someone doesn’t push you to try something, you end up going nowhere.”

“I know,” Renjun murmured.

“It’s only one person in there. It’s not a crowd or anything.”

“I know.”

“So let’s try it.”

Renjun counted the squares of sidewalk between him and the record shop entrance. One, two, three, four. He could cross it in only a few steps. It would — _should —_ be so easy.

He swallowed, then bit down on the inside of his bottom lip, trying to hold his tension in his mouth instead of his shoulders or stride. That way, it could be kept a secret.

He nodded to Yangyang, and followed him into the shop.

There was a bell above the door that jingled to announce their arrival. Renjun startled at the sound, ducking away from it. The door swung shut on his heel, and he stumbled awkwardly into Yangyang in front of him. The boy at the counter looked up, but if he noticed Renjun’s clumsiness, he didn’t show it. He offered a smile and a “how are you?”

“Good,” Yangyang said. He tugged Renjun’s sleeve to lead him further into the store. It was long and narrow, with only two aisles to navigate. The shelves were stacked to bursting, perhaps a thousand or more sleeves poking out to display their torn, yellowed edges. Most of the selection seemed to be second-hand, but the set-up nearest the entrance carried some new vinyls as well, still shrink-wrapped and shiny in the window light. On the small amount of shelve-less wall was a collage of sleeves bearing iconic album covers. Renjun didn’t know much about old music, but even he could identify _Abbey Road, Aladdin Sane,_ and the yellow banana on _The Velvet Underground & Nico._

Yangyang had already taken off towards the left aisle, standing on his toes to pluck down an album with prominent ring wear and blow the thin sheen of dust off of it. Renjun shuffled behind him, feeling very much out of place, like he was ten times bigger than he really was and had to bend and break himself to fit inside that little shop. That’s how he always felt in moments like those. Like Alice in Wonderland after eating that slice of cake, contorted and crushed inside a too-small space.

At least it was quiet, Renjun thought. He sucked in a breath, used it to fill his chest and straighten his posture, and moved down into the aisle. To try and kill time, he began to finger through the records, not really looking at them. He was focusing instead on the sound of Yangyang rifling behind him, hoping that the other boy would tire soon and they could be on their way. In the background he could hear music playing, probably from behind the front counter, some kind of 60s pop that sounded like something from an old beach movie. Renjun began to absentmindedly bob his head along with it, flicking past the records in time with the beat. He liked the atmosphere — the music, the dust, the strong sunset light streaming in through the window, fossilizing the shop. It felt like being transported back in time.

Somewhere behind him a door snapped shut. _Bathroom,_ it said, barely legible in faded back stenciling. Renjun glanced quickly around for Yangyang, but he had disappeared.

“Do you need help with anything?”

Renjun startled so hard his hand flew back from the records and smacked against the wooden display. He clutched it painfully and bit back a swear.

Beside him was the record shop boy. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He was even more handsome up close. Messy dark hair pushed back from his forehead, sharp eyes with long lashes, lips that seemed permanently upturned at their corners. Everything about him looked _strong —_ strong nose with a straight line of a bridge, strong cheeks and chin as if they were chiseled, strong build, not weedy or waifish like most of the alternative-looking guys Renjun had seen. And there was his silver eyebrow ring, the ball caps studding his skin like diamonds. Was it weird to want to kiss him there, at his brow? Especially since he was a complete stranger? Renjun blushed at the thought.

“It’s okay,” he responded, too loudly. It echoed through the empty shop.

“Can I help you find something?”

Eye contact, with just about the prettiest eyes Renjun had ever seen. He shook his head and looked back down towards the records. “No. I’m just kind of looking around, so…”

“Okay.”

Instead of going back to the counter, the boy continued to hover beside him, fingers pattering against the display table. Renjun tried to mentally will him away, because he could feel himself beginning to sweat, but the boy lingered.

“Are you a Cure fan?” the boy asked.

“Sorry?”

The boy tapped the record that was showing in front of him. _The Cure_ , it said in wispy black lettering along the top of the sleeve. Below was a blurry image of what appeared to be an extreme close-up on a pair of lipstick red lips.

“Oh. Um. I don’t know. I’ve never listened to them.” Renjun didn’t listen to much besides classical music. He’d been taking piano lessons since he was five, so it was always the kind of music he gravitated to, gentle plunking keys and strings and the kind of dynamism he never heard in pop songs. The swell, the decrescendo into something that might be considered a musical whisper. It comforted him. Symphonies on CD were stacked on the shelf beside his bed, plus a few Taylor Swift albums from his semi-regrettable high school years.

“Really?” Record Shop Boy grinned and pulled the record from the slot. “They’re one of my favorites. You should give them a try.”

“Oh — yeah. Maybe.” Renjun gave the boy a sidelong glance. Was he flirting with him? _No,_ Rejun hurriedly berated himself. _No way._ The boy was just being nice. It was his job to be nice to customers. Renjun often found himself reading too easily into situations like this. In his freshman year of college, there had been a boy in his Graphic Design class he’d thought was cute, with freckles and soft curly hair and perfectly straight teeth. All of a sudden one day, that boy had begun sitting next to him and asking questions, like if Renjun had plans after class and if he could join him. Renjun had thought for sure that it was flirting, only for the boy to tell him a couple weeks along that he was actually interested in one of Renjun’s friends, and was hoping Renjun might help to set them up.

Renjun had vowed after that to wise up. Not every little thing was flirtation. Not every show of interest was a sign to make a move.

But as long as he didn’t get his hopes up too high, maybe it was okay to play along.

“Here —” Record Shop Boy shuffled the records again, searching. He had to lean in closer to do it, so close their shoulders almost touched. Renjun could smell him, the earthy scent of his cologne mixed with the crisp scent of his hair product. He smelled really, really good. Good-smelling boys were a rare gem. Renjun suddenly found him at least ten times more attractive. “Ah. This one — _Disintegration._ It’s my favorite of their albums. You should give it a listen.”

Renjun tried to smile and project even an ounce of charisma. “Okay. Maybe I’ll download it when I get home. Thanks for the recommendation.”

“No problem.” The boy replaced the record. He came close again, and his cheek was just a few inches away from Renjun’s face. Renjun could not remember the last time he’d been so close to a person who wasn’t his mother. It made his heart beat faster, faster, _faster_ as he realized the boy’s free arm was not far from his waist, and it would only take the slightest of movements for it to touch —

Something slipped against the back of Renjun’s calf.

He yelped and stumbled back, clutching a hand to the front of his chest. “What was —”

“Oh, sorry,” Record Shop Boy said. He ducked down, and when he came back up, he was holding the largest cat Renjun had ever seen in his arms. “That was just Moony. You aren’t allergic to cats, are you?”

Renjun gaped at the cat. It had silvery marble fur, like the shimmer of the moon. He recognized it as a Maine Coon, long-haired and bulky-bodied with a steep, elegant nose ( _just like the boy’s_ , he thought). “Oh — no, no,” he stammered. “I’m not allergic.”

“Oh, good. Moony likes to rub himself on everyone who walks in the door. We should probably put a warning sign up.” Record Shop Boy gently hefted the cat in his arms as if bouncing a baby, then whipped away from Renjun as he let out a huge sneeze. “Excuse me.”

“Does that cat live here?” Renjun asked incredulously.

“Yeah. He used to be a stray, but I asked my boss and begged him to let us take him in. His litterbox is in the back room.”

Renjun did not expect this. Record Shop Boy struck him as a Cool Boy, who rode a motorcycle and smoked cigarettes and maybe played the bass guitar. He did not strike him as a fervent animal lover.

The cat leapt down and slunk back around the display. It kept glaring up at Renjun with it’s thin-pupiled yellow eyes, and Renjun did not trust it. He glared back, and cursed it for ruining the moment.

Just then, the bathroom door flung open again and Yangyang came out, trying to adjust his shirtends at the same time. He looked up, saw Record Shop Boy standing there, and walked right over between him and Renjun. Renjun took the chance to wander away, calm his heartbeat, listen inconspicuously to the conversation.

“Hey,” Yangyang said to Record Shop Boy. “You go to Reddings too, right? I think I’ve seen you around campus before. I’m Yangyang, by the way.”

“Jeno,” Record Shop Boy offered, shaking Yangyang’s hand in a casual, bro-ish sort of way. “Are you looking for something?”

“Oh, yeah. My grandma has a record player, so I was thinking I’d poke around in here a bit to see if you had anything interesting…”

The two of them chatted for a while. When Yangyang and Renjun finally left, Yangyang had two vinyls, and Renjun was empty-handed. But it wasn’t all for nothing; he finally knew Record Shop Boy’s name.

_—_

Yangyang dropped Renjun off at the base of his long driveway. Renjun spent the walk up to the gate staring at his sneakers as they treaded over the fine, uncracked concrete, feeling as if he still had a bit of a lingering blush.

The Record Shop Boy’s name was Jeno. He listened to old music and liked to give recommendations to strangers and begged the shop owner to let him keep a cat there.

Renjun wondered how fast someone could fall in love.

He slapped himself on the cheeks and tried to shake Jeno out of his brain as he punched in the gate code and it swung open, passing through the tidily trimmed yard and up the front steps. He’d been aware since he was very young that his parents were wealthy, though by now the image of it had become stale and normal to him. Their house was exactly like every other Connecticut mansion: a mix of brown stone and blue siding, bay windows, shapely hedges maintained by their gardener, a big pool in the backyard. He’d used to get an amazing rush when inviting the other kids over to his house — they’d always stared around in awe of it and yelled in the front foyer to see if it would echo off the tall ceilings, and it had made him feel special. His birthdays were always an event, and a fuss was made of who in class received an invitation, because it meant they would get to go to the pretty mansion and play in the fancy pool. He came to realize over the years that these types of friendships were not real friendships, though he couldn’t blame them for being excited over that kind of extravagance. Eventually, everyone drifted away. He had money, but no charisma to back it up.

When he entered the front door, shutting it quietly and kicking his shoes off at the front mat, his mother appeared seemingly out of nowhere. She skirted around the corner from the direction of the kitchen, pearl earrings shimmering in the light from the golden wall lamp.

“Renjun!” she called. He could tell from the thin smile on her rose-red lips that she was suppressing her excitement, building up to a reveal. “How were your classes today?”

“Fine,” he answered suspiciously, staying close to the door. He loved his mother, but he knew this behavior, and took it as a bad sign. She was cooking something up, and it wasn’t just dessert.

“Well — I have a bit of news.” She clasped her hands in front of her chest. “You know Nancy, right?”

“Of course I know Nancy.” Nancy was the wife of one of his father’s coworkers at his advertising agency, who was part of its board of directors. She often came to the ladies’ dinners his mother threw at the house, where she and the other company wives sat in front of their fancily folded napkins and flower-accented china plates and gossipped about the other women who had neglected to show up. Renjun did not really have an opinion on Nancy, except that she had a great talent for stacking her hair impossibly high without even a strand of it moving out of place. She must have bought a very expensive brand of hairspray.

“Well. Me, her, you, and her daughter Leah are going to have lunch together on Sunday. We’re going to try the bistro on Magnolia Street with the little glass tables outside. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“You invited me without asking?” he asked flatly.

His mother’s smile faltered. “I thought it would be fun.”

“I know what you’re doing,” he muttered. She did this at least five times a year — setting up a covert date between him and one of her friend’s daughters. He’d managed to worm his way out of the majority of them at the last minute by claiming either an upset stomach or another obligation, but about a year ago she’d managed to trap him into one on a dinner cruise. That time, too, she and the other girl’s mother had been with them, and the mother kept prodding her daughter and saying things like, “Michelle, show Renjun the photos from our vacation in Monaco!” or “Michelle, why don’t you tell Renjun about your sorority’s charity event from last week?” It had become painfully obvious that it was meant to be a date. Michelle had kept touching Renjun’s arm and laughing so loudly that the other patrons aboard had turned to look at her. Renjun had lowered in his chair, hoping that maybe the boat would sink and the ocean would swallow him up for good so that he would never have to go on another mother-designed blind date again.

“I’m not going,” he told his mother.

“What do you mean?” Her arms drooped.

“I wish you would stop trying to set that stuff up for me. I don’t want to do it.”

“Renjun. I’m just trying to help you.”

He knew what she was really saying. _You’re already twenty, and you’ve gone on exactly one date in your entire life, which I had to trick you into._ Renjun was not much interested in dates, and he was even less interested in girls, which his mother hadn’t seemed to figure out yet.

He could only envision a date as a nightmare. Sitting beside Michelle, he’d barely been able to look at her, and had kept picking up his glass as if he was going to drink from it, then set it back down without taking a sip, because he could not figure out what else to do with his hands. He hadn’t even spoken more than ten words, because he always clammed up under that kind of pressure.

His mother did not know that he had, in fact, gone on a date on his own last September, just a few weeks into his freshman year. A boy had approached him in the campus writing club and told him he’d liked Renjun’s fuzzy-capped pen. Then he’d asked if Renjun wanted to get tacos that Friday, and Renjun had known it was meant to be a date, and he’d been nervous, but he was afraid of going his entire life boyfriendless, so he’d agreed. On Friday, as they’d sat at a table at the back of the Mexican restaurant, the boy had been talking about how he was an aspiring comic book artist, which Renjun had thought was kind of a cool hobby, and _hey_ , maybe this date thing would turn out good afterall. Creativity was a sexy trait in a guy, right? He’d asked if Renjun wanted to see a story he’d been working on. Renjun had agreed, and the boy had handed him his notebook, and when Renjun had opened it he’d been met by a veritable buffet of sexually explicit comic panels.

“It’s kind of an experimental thing,” the boy had said nonchalantly, crunching loudly on a corn chip. “Kind of out there, kind of edgy. Let me know what you think.”

Renjun had not expected to spend his first date proofreading someone’s porn.

He had hastily handed it back, entire body on fire with shocked embarrassment, and said, “It, uh. Looks good, I guess.”

“Cool. Maybe once we’re out of here, you can help me shoot some reference poses.” The boy’s grin had been sideways, tongue between his teeth.

Renjun hadn’t left with the boy. He’d lied, said he had a text from his dad that said he needed to be home right away, and booked it before the boy could object.

Ever since, he lived in eternal fear of another Comic Porn date, or something equivalent. He hated meeting people for the first time, because new people were unpredictable. Just as unpredictable as his spikes in anxiety. Going boyfriendless his entire life, he decided, was better than living in a state of constant awkwardness.

“I’m not going,” he repeated. “I don’t want to go on a date with a girl I don’t know that you chose for me.”

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” his mother said, seeming genuinely hurt. “I — I just want you to be happy.”

Renjun walked away from her, up the stairs to his bedroom. He shut the door behind him, abandoned his bag beside it, and plopped back onto his bed. His bedroom was his haven, had been ever since he was little. It was the only place to get away from his parents and their never-ending conga line of guests and expectations they tried to force onto him. Whenever things became too much, he liked to lie on his bed with the lights off, surrounded by the soft grayish-blue of his walls, and listen to music on his phone.

He did that now, inserting his earbuds and resting back against his pillow. The largo movement of Dvorak's _New World Symphony_ poured into his ears, and he shut his eyes.

In high school, he’d listened to his music during the car ride in the morning and afternoon. To prepare him for the day, then to relax him when it was over. This was the time in his life when he, at age sixteen, had told his guidance counselor that he was having a lot of anxiety. It had gotten to the point that it was beginning to interfere with his grades, because he had become too nervous to answer questions in class or do presentations. The guidance counselor had referred his parents to a family therapist, and the family therapist had referred them to a child psychologist, who had asked him a bunch of questions and diagnosed him with social anxiety disorder. His mother had stared back at the psychologist with round eyes and a round mouth, like the thought had never even crossed her mind that something might have been wrong with her son. “What can we do about it?” she’d asked. The psychologist had said there were many options: therapy, medication, and taking small steps to manage anxiety, like breathing exercises and taking breaks in stressful social situations.

Renjun had hastily agreed to try that last one. He’d never had a chance for the others, because he had not seen anyone again after that, insisting that he was fine. He didn’t want therapy. It sounded just as terrifying to him as every other interaction, worse even, to be spilling his deepest thoughts for a stranger. He would manage by himself.

Renjun squeezed his eyes shut harder. Even the music wasn’t helping him much right then. He kept thinking about his mother, and how disappointing it must be for her, to know he wouldn’t meet people and branch out and live the life she wanted him to. Maybe he’d be alone forever.

Renjun remembered Jeno.

He lifted his phone and tapped the search bar. What had been the name of the album he’d suggested? He googled _The Cure,_ and sifted through album covers until he found what he thought was the right one (frankly, it was difficult to remember the record Jeno had shown him, since Renjun had been so distracted by his face and voice and closeness). A dark cover, a pale face and flowers collaged over it, _Disintegration_ in small red print. He found the full album online, and hit play.

The first track faded in. Bells, synths, the slam of a drum. Renjun listened, and wondered if Jeno was listening to that album right then, too. Maybe it was like the soundtrack of his life. Maybe it had played over all his most important moments and he found comfort in it, the same way Renjun had always found comfort in his classical music. He could understand it; the song playing was dreamy, soft and hard at the same time, the voices not-quite-there, like they were calling to him from a distance.

The first track ended, and the second track began. Renjun lifted his phone, and read its title. _Pictures of You._ The guitars strummed, and they sounded both sweet and sad, like a memory. For some reason, it made him feel like he was going to cry.

_Remembering you running soft through the night_

_You were bigger and brighter and wider than snow_

_And screamed at the make-believe_

_Screamed at the sky_

_And you finally found all your courage_

_To let it all go_

Renjun threw his arm over his eyes.

 _So this is what Jeno sounds like,_ he thought vaguely, as if he was thinking it in a dream. He loved the sound of it. He loved that this was what Jeno loved.

He fell asleep to the music. When he woke up, he was halfway through _Homesick,_ and it was raining outside his window, gray drops splattering against the glass. It felt picture-perfect, like he sat inside a photograph.

—

Renjun did not have class the next day, and his mother was surprised to find he was going out anyway.

“Really?” she said, as he slipped his shoes on at the door. “Where to?”

“Just — just for a bike ride.”

“You haven’t ridden your bike since you were, like, twelve.”

“Well, I’m just trying to be more active,” he said defensively. She continued to watch him skeptically as he pulled on his windbreaker and walked out the door.

She was correct that it had been many years since he had actually ridden his bike. He’d outgrown it — the seat was too low, which he had to painstakingly readjust, the bike was too small in general, and it had a little basket at the front. He was thankful at least that it did not have ribbons on the handles or Lightning Macqueen on its front. He took off for downtown, which was approximately a fifteen minute ride by bike, except he was so out of practice that he tipped over into his neighbor’s lawn while she was watering her flower boxes and had to give her a small, mortified wave as he hopped back up with a sore hip and elbow.

It was also warmer out than he expected, which meant that by the time he got there, he was sweating beneath his jacket. He pulled it off once he parked his bike in the rack and checked himself in a store window, realized he’d sweated through his tee, and had a small breakdown as he tried to to shake it dry in an alleyway where no one could watch. He wasn’t sure it actually helped, but maybe they’d be dry by the time he was done in coolly air-conditioned L.L.Bean. For some reason, he’d felt the need to justify this excursion to himself, which meant buying himself a pack of expensive socks and stuffing them into his bike basket before he dared to cross the street and visit the record shop.

He tried to open the door quietly, but the bell jingled anyway.

Jeno was at the counter. It seemed like business there was few and far between; he had so little to do, he was bent over a textbook and doing his homework. Moony lay beside him, flicking his tail against the register. Jeno looked up at Renjun when he walked in, and he smiled.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi.” Renjun tried to smile, too, though it felt awkward. He found he could never smile without it looking strained.

“What are you looking for today?”

Renjun edged closer to the counter, close enough that he might touch it or lean against it. He thought about doing just that, but knew it would seem unnatural, and refrained. “Nothing. Um. Actually, I just — I listened to the album you told me to.”

“Really?” Jeno hopped up from his chair and walked around the counter. Renjun took a step back. “What did you think?”

“I liked it.”

“That’s good. I didn’t expect that you’d really listen to it.” Jeno chuckled to himself, his eyes turning to delighted slivers, which Renjun found amazingly cute. “Oh. I don’t think I ever got your name last time.”

“Renjun,” he offered.

“Renjun,” Jeno repeated. It sounded like sugar on his lips. Renjun would have paid good money to hear Jeno say his name five, ten, a hundred more times.

There was a beat of silence. Renjun raced to fill it, worried that Jeno might get bored with him. “Why didn’t you expect me to listen to it?” Renjun asked, the only thing he could think of.

“Well. I wasn’t sure you really wanted me talking to you,” Jeno admitted. “You seemed kind of… uninterested? Or, like, you only agreed to get me to stop bugging you.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought maybe I was making you uncomfortable.”

“No,” Renjun said quickly, nearly biting the end of Jeno’s sentence. “I wasn’t uncomfortable.” This was a lie, but _everyone_ made Renjun uncomfortable, and at least with Jeno, it had been a good kind of uncomfortable. Like riding a roller coaster — nerve wracking, but exhilarating.

“Good.” Jeno breathed a relieved sigh. Renjun’s confirmation seemed to fill him with new confidence, and he swung back around the counter, motioning for Renjun to follow. Renjun felt a bit strange stepping into the behind-the-counter area, like he was breaching a shop rule. He found that Jeno was leading him over to the record player, which sat on a table with a pile of vinyls beside it. Jeno ran his finger down the pile, and stopped at the edge of a faded copy of _Disintegration_ — Renjun recognized the murky album art. “My favorite track on it is _Lovesong_. Did you like that one?”

Renjun felt a prickle of embarrassment. He didn’t recognize the name — it had probably been one that played while he’d been asleep. “Uh. I don’t remember how it went.”

“This one —” Jeno flipped the record onto the player, then fidgeted with the arm to try and find the beginning of the right track. It made a fuzzy blip, then settled into the groove with the striking of a melancholy chord. The bass came in, prominent beneath the high keyboard whistle.

“It sounds sad,” Renjun observed.

“It’s a love song.”

Renjun edged closer to the record player, watching the vinyl spin around and around.

_Whenever I'm alone with you_

_You make me feel like I am home again_

_Whenever I'm alone with you_

_You make me feel like I am whole again_

He felt a little chill as the lyrics struck him, as if he was the one being sung to. He didn’t understand how a song that had been listened to by a million people could sound so intimate, as if he was the only one it had ever been played for. Like the song was meant for him.

“It’s pretty,” he breathed.

“Pretty, and sad,” Jeno said with a grin. “That’s what I like about it. It's got layers. He’s singing about love, but it’s almost like there’s something he isn’t saying.”

“Like the lyrics don’t quite match the rest of it.”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t usually listen to music with lyrics.”

Jeno’s brows arched in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“I like classical music. You know — mostly, it’s just the instruments.”

“So that’s why you haven’t heard this kind of stuff.” Jeno turned back to the stack of records, fingering through them. Renjun wondered if these ones, the ones stashed behind the counter, were all of Jeno’s favorites, that he liked to listen to as he worked. “If you wanted more recommendations, I could give you some. Have you ever listened to The Smiths?”

“No.”

“Really? What about Joy Division? Or The Cars?”

“No and no.”

“What about the classic stuff? Like The Beach Boys. Or The Beatles.”

“I mean. I’ve heard of them.”

“ _You’ve heard of them,_ ” Jeno echoed disbelievingly. “Looks like I’ve got some work to do. Here. If you give me your number, I’ll send you some recs. Then you can let me know what you think.”

_Your number._

Renjun’s hands were completely clammy within seconds of Jeno saying it. He wiped them hurriedly on his jeans before Jeno handed his phone over so that he wouldn’t leave any sticky sweat on the screen for Jeno to discover. If he did, he might have imploded on the spot.

 _Don’t read into it,_ he told himself. _He wants to be your friend. Friends are good. You can always use more friends. Just because he asked for your number does not mean he wants to kiss you._

Renjun wanted to kiss Jeno.

It was difficult to reconcile these two thoughts.

He entered his name and number, tilted the phone in the light to double-check it was not shiny from his sweaty hands, and gave it back.

“Cool,” Jeno said. “I’ll send you some recommendations tonight. Maybe you can send me some of your classical stuff. I don’t know much about it, but I _did_ play clarinet in middle school. That counts for something, right?”

Despite his nerves, Renjun smiled. “Yes. They do, in fact, use clarinets in orchestras.”

“I didn’t expect you to be so sassy,” Jeno responded wryly. “I like it.”

 _Lovesong_ finished playing, and _Last Dance_ started. This song was gloomy, too, but at that moment, it didn’t sound gloomy to Renjun. It sounded like falling in love. Grandiose, heart-pumping, bigger than itself.

He left the record shop on an adrenaline-high, like he’d just had his first hit of a drug.

_He isn’t interested. He wants to be your friend. Just. Friends._

Even though he told himself that, it did not stop him from jumping in place on the sidewalk, dancing quickly but enthusiastically to imaginary music, and raising a victorious fist as he crossed the street to his bicycle.

—

Somehow, Renjun still ended up across the table from a girl he’d never spoken to before.

He didn’t know how it happened. Sunday came, and he’d been planning to spend the day catching up on homework in his room while listening to the list of albums Jeno had sent him. He’d just turned on _The Queen is Dead_ when his mother had knocked at his door, wearing her yellow floral dress with her teal purse hanging over her shoulder. She’d begun her sentence not with a “hey,” but with a sigh.

“I’m going to lunch with Nancy and Leah,” she’d said, the words high and floaty like clouds. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”

“Okay,” Renjun had said.

She’d continued to stand in the doorway, rocking on her wedge sandals.

Renjun’s resolve had begun to whittle away. He knew he’d hurt her feelings. She had a certain way of always making him feel sorry for her. She was an excellent pouter.

“Fine,” he’d muttered. “I’ll come.”

Suddenly perky, she’d sung, “Okay!” and skipped back down the stairs.

Presently, Renjun stared at his sneakers through the glass of the outdoor table at Aphrodite Bistro. Then his sneakers were gone as a menu was passed in front of his face, and he looked over it with knitted brows. Eight dollars for a bowl of soup. Fifteen for a croque-monsieur. Outrageous prices, but price was not a factor for either Nancy or his mother. Nancy had already asked the waitress to bring her a five dollar cheese baguette so she could tear it into chunks and feed it to her little white dog that sat in her purse, staring around with huge black eyes that looked like they were going to fall out of its head.

Directly across from Renjun was Leah. She wore a pink headband, winged liner, and an argyle sweater. Around her wrist was a jangly charm bracelet — The Eiffel Tower, a half-heart which said “BFF,” and Minnie Mouse glittered under the bright spring sun. She seemed nice. Renjun was glad, but it did not change that fact that he was not interested in her.

“Leah,” Nancy said, tapping her on the arm. “Renjun is majoring in business administration at Reddings. Did you know that?”

“No.” Leah smiled, and leaned in a little closer across the table. Renjun could smell her vanilla cupcake-scented perfume. “That’s really cool. What do you want to do after you graduate?”

Renjun hated talking about his future. It was even boring to _him,_ though he’d been the one to choose it. “I’ll be working at my dad’s advertising firm. He wants me to take over the company someday.”

“Ooh.” Her eyes glittered, and Renjun could tell she was fantasizing about the future she might have if things panned out and they got married — designer purses, unlimited credit card purchases, a guaranteed safety net. “It’s nice that you have things planned out like that. Most people our age are still trying to figure stuff out.”

“What do you want to do?” Renjun asked her, trying his best to seem interested. It wasn’t Leah’s fault that they’d been roped into this. She deserved at least an attempt at affability.

“I’m majoring in fine arts at Crosswell.” She pulled out her phone and tilted it towards him, swiping through her photo gallery. “I’m working on a series right now. It’s all about art as a concept, how we perceive it, how we try and attach value to something so abstract…” The images showed what Renjun might have loosely referred to as “sculptures,” like a mass of wire sticking out from an old boot and spearing magazine cutouts of old-timey models, and the basin of a sink, detached from its countertop, spattered in paint and globs of paper mache. “This is my favorite,” she added, showing Renjun a piece of computer paper tacked to the wall that said, _THIS IS ART._

“Oh my,” Renjun whispered. “That’s… very inventive. Is this what you want to pursue after school?”

“Yes. I’d love to have my own studio, where I can work from home and sell my creations.”

“Have you ever sold one before?”

“Not yet. But I’ve only just discovered my style. I think I’ll begin to turn a profit soon.”

“Sure,” Renjun said. Thankfully, the waitress returned to take their orders, which meant Renjun was relieved from the conversation for a moment as he asked for a modest garden salad, which inexplicably cost ten bucks. _It had better be the best damn salad I ever eat._

“You know,” Renjun’s mother said, between sips of her organic darjeeling tea. “Renjun’s something of an artist himself.”

“Really?” Leah’s eyes sparkled. “What kind of artist?”

“He plays piano beautifully. Next time, we’ll invite you and your mother over to the house, and he can play something for you.”

Renjun groaned inwardly. There his mother went again, volunteering him for something he’d never agreed to. It always made him feel trapped.

“Oh, he’s a perfect gentleman,” Nancy cooed, while her little dog barked pathetically at a sparrow that skipped along the stone patio. “Educated, plays the piano, and so handsome, too.”

“Thanks,” Renjun murmured.

“When you come over, I’ll show you his baby photos, too,” his mother went on. “We have the cutest ones of him in the bathtub —”

“ _Mom._ ”

“— and one from his very first piano recital! He was only seven, I think. We dressed him in this little tuxedo and bowtie and slicked his hair down. It was so unbelievably cute. But the funny part is —”

Renjun felt a sudden cold chill as he remembered where this was going. “Hey — Mom, I don’t really like that story.”

“What? It’s cute — you were just a kid, anyway.” She let out an innocent giggle. “He got up on the stage and saw all the people there, and I could see he was shaking in his boots. I thought about going up there and calming him down, but he walked over to the piano anyway and started playing. He got about halfway through the song when he made a mistake. Just a little mess-up, hit the wrong key or something, but it made him so embarrassed he stopped playing. Everyone was quiet, waiting for him to pick it up again —”

“Mom,” Renjun said again.

She bulldozed ahead. “And then we all heard this tinkling sound — and it turned out he’d wet himself on the bench.” She laughed again, louder, as if this was hilarious. “Oh my god, I felt so sorry for him. He ran right off the stage after that, and I had to rock him on my knee like he was a baby to get him to stop crying.”

Just as it had at the piano recital, Renjun’s face went vibrant red. Nancy started laughing too, and said, “That’s absolutely adorable. Aww.”

Leah seemed to pick up on the awkwardness, and gently placed her hand on top of Renjun’s. “Maybe we should talk about something else.”

Renjun shook his head — it was too late, anyway. It wasn’t just that the story was embarrassing. It was that that had been the first time he’d ever felt that kind of anxiousness. He could still remember looking out over the crowd, and seeing all those faces watching him, and feeling like every move he made, every little error, was amplified. He’d wanted to run away so badly, but he hadn’t wanted to let his parents down, so he’d shuffled over to the piano anyway and tried to play. Then that mistake, just the slip of his pinky, and it had been all over. At first he’d thought he was going to throw up over the keys. He wasn’t sure if that would have been better or worse than wetting himself.

The worst part, looking back, was how he felt he’d never progressed after that. He was still the scared child at the piano. He’d only gotten a little better at hiding it, or avoiding situations where his anxiety could be put on display.

His mother touched his shoulder. “Renjun. Don’t get all mad. It’s just a story.”

“Well, I don’t like it,” he snapped back, pulling away from her hand. “I told you that.”

Everyone went quiet, except the dog, who kept barking. Nancy tried to quiet it by giving it another baguette chunk, which it swallowed whole after gagging noisily.

“Renjun,” his mother said, voice low. “Come on. Let’s try and have a nice time.”

He was too riled up to back down. And he felt the tears pricking, too, because he knew he was humiliating himself, right in the front of a busy restaurant, catching the eyes of the other tables. But he was sick of being walked over. He’d been worn too thin.

“I’ll just walk home,” he said.

“Don’t leave. I promise, I won’t bring that up again.”

“It’s a long walk home, isn’t it?” Nancy piped up, trying to salvage what she could. “Just stay, Renjun. Me and Leah want to talk to you more. Maybe we could —”

“I really don’t want to,” he interrupted weakly. He took his jacket off the back of his chair and began to put it on.

“God. We can’t even have one nice lunch,” his mother cried, burying her face in her hands. She’d been worn too thin, too.

“I didn’t want to come in the first place,” Renjun countered. “It was your fault.” He bumped the table as he pulled his arm through a sleeve, rattling the silverware on top of it. It disturbed the dog, which began its barking again. Nancy, a strand of her hair having fallen loose from her tight updo, hurriedly tried to shut it up, as the other diners cast annoyed glares in their direction.

“What are we going to do now?” His mother took her swan-shaped folded napkin and dabbed at her eyes, drying the tears before they could mess up her makeup. “Leah came here just to get to know you, but you’re acting crazy right in front of her —”

“It’s not like I was gonna date her anyway,” Renjun flung back, “since I’m gay.”

Even the dog stopped barking.

The waitress, who had just returned with their food, hovered at the table’s edge, seeming to consider whether she should go back inside and wait things out, or set their plates down.

“Oh my word,” Leah whispered into her glass of Perrier.

Renjun ran all the way back to the car, sitting and slamming the door shut. His mother joined him just a moment later. She didn’t speak as she turned the key, but Renjun thought he could hear her sniffling.

—

When they got home, Renjun stomped up the stairs, straight to his bedroom. He threw himself down on his bed, burying his face in his pillow, breathing into it as if it was a paper bag. _In for four seconds, hold, out for eight —_ one of the breathing exercises he’d printed out and pasted into his school planner.

His mother cracked the door. He didn’t look up at her.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” she whispered.

“I don’t like telling you things. You always make me regret it after.”

“If I’d known sooner, I wouldn’t have been trying to set you up on those dates, Renjun.”

“I don’t care.” He pressed the ends of the pillow over his ears. “Just leave me alone right now.”

He waited thirty seconds, long enough to be sure she’d actually left, then flipped over onto his back, wiping his nose with his sleeve. From his pocket, he unraveled his earbuds and plugged them into his phone. When the beautiful, soft plinking of _Gymnopedie No. 1_ filled his ears, he finally began to calm down. His heartbeat slowed to match it.

After his humiliation on the stage at seven, he’d decided he would not play a recital again. It had briefly crossed his mind to abandon playing altogether, but in truth, he’d always loved the piano. He didn’t want to leave it behind, no matter how the experience had traumatized him. So from then on, he’d only played at his lessons and in the privacy of the house, where only his parents could hear him. Like his bedroom, the piano bench was his safe space. He would not let that awful memory steal it away from him. He loved music too much to allow it.

Suddenly, the sound of the piano cut out, and instead he heard the ding of a text coming in. He lifted his phone over his face.

It was from Jeno.

_Hey! Do you have class tomorrow? I was thinking if we were both on campus, then maybe we could stop and grab coffee somewhere?_

Despite everything, Renjun’s anger melted away. He was happy. So happy he thought he was going to start bawling again.

 _Sounds good,_ he struggled to type back, fingers slipping on the letters, too excited to be precise.

_Great. Does three o’clock work? At the cafe in Kingsley Hall?_

_Yes,_ Renjun responded.

_Then I’ll see you there._

Renjun stared up at the ceiling, heartbeat building back up to a speedy thumping.

Quickly, he turned the classical music off, and pulled up the playlist he’d made from the albums Jeno had recommended him. There were a ton of different artists this time, and Renjun found he had enjoyed most of them, but he still gravitated back towards The Cure, a new track Jeno had pointed him towards — _Just Like Heaven._

_Why are you so far away she said_

_Why won't you ever know that I'm in love with you?_

_That I'm in love with you?_

The melodic, heavenly rise of the guitar riff made Renjun feel like he was floating on a cloud. It lifted him higher, and he forgot for a moment that anything was the matter at all.

—

Renjun arrived at the cafe fifteen minutes early. He spent that extra time standing behind a pillar where he hoped no one could see him, nervously bending and unbending his knees, peering around the corner to watch for Jeno’s arrival.

Jeno got there at exactly three like he’d said. Seeing him at school was different than seeing him at the record shop. It reminded Renjun that they were the same age, and that Jeno was not some unapproachable stranger; in a different universe, they might have ended up in a class together, and they could have met each other that way. He looked like any (very handsome) college kid — denim hoodie with gray sweatshirt sleeves, torn black jeans, red backpack worn lazily over one shoulder. He spotted Renjun’s eyes peeking around the pillar, and waved.

“Hey,” Renjun said, walking over to meet him. They moved to the end of the cafe line, and Renjun made sure to keep a bit of space between them. Standing too close to Jeno made him too nervous to speak.

“Did you just get out of a class?” he asked. He wasn’t good at making conversation, but classes were a convenient, obvious place to start.

“Yeah. Organic chemistry. What about you?”

“Class at four,” Renjun said. “Uh. What major are you, by the way?”

“Pre-veterinary science.”

“Oh!” Renjun remembered Moony, Jeno begging his boss to let them keep him, the way he’d sneezed as he’d hefted him in his arms. “Aren’t you allergic to cats?”

Jeno grinned. “Yeah. It’s usually okay if I remember to take my anti-allergy meds, though.”

Renjun did not think Jeno seemed like someone who wanted to be a vet. He didn’t usually envision a veterinarian being punkish and tatted and pierced. But Jeno didn’t really fit any stereotype Renjun tried to fix to him, aside from him liking old rock songs. He was full of surprises. Surprises usually scared Renjun, but he found he liked it.

“What about you?” Jeno asked. “What’s your major?”

“Business administration,” Renjun answered. He almost hated to admit it — it sounded so boring in comparison. “Pre-vet seems way cooler.”

Jeno shrugged. “I mean, it’s mostly a bunch of science-y stuff. I don’t know that it’s more or less cool than any other major.” The people in line ahead moved up. They shuffled behind to fill the space. “I think business sounds way interesting. It’s probably a good major if you want to make money, huh?”

“I guess so.”

“Then you can pay for my coffee, right?”

“Nice try, but no.”

Jeno laughed as he approached the register.

They took their drinks back to a table, beside a bookshelf and a bunch of magazines that featured articles about Reddings U. Renjun was glad that Jeno had chosen this place to meet up, because it was somewhere he was familiar with. In fact, this was his favorite table, because it had the perfect angle on the window so that he could see the campus bus stop, and watch for it when it pulled up. He came there every other day. It was part of his routine, and that made him a little less nervous.

Jeno took a long sip of his coffee, eyes shut as if he were savoring it. Renjun tried not to stare at him too hard in case he noticed, but it was hard not to — Jeno’s face was so pretty, so perfect with its straight brows and strong nose and long lashes.

“So,” Jeno said. “Did you like my recs this time?”

“Yeah,” Renjun responded eagerly. “I was actually kind of curious — how’d you come to like that kind of music? It’s kind of old for you, right?”

“It’s mostly because of my mom.” Jeno’s eyes softened. “She brought me up on it. All her favorite bands. Then I started exploring it on my own once I was in high school, and it kind of… spiraled.” Almost shly, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Once I got my first job, I went crazy buying vinyls and a player. Probably should have put that money towards school, looking back.”

“Ah — I think that’s nice,” Renjun said. “Your mom must like that you have something you share like that.” Again, he found himself envious. He wished he and his parents could share anything like that. He loved them, but never felt like he understood them, or the other way around. “When did you start working at the record shop?”

“Right after I started going to Reddings. It’s convenient that it’s so close. And I like working there, so that’s good, too.” He nudged Renjun’s knuckles where they were closed around his latte (making Renjun jump in pleased surprise) and asked, “What about you? Do you work anywhere?”

Renjun shook his head. “No. My parents are… well-off, I guess. They’re paying my tuition.”

“Ah. Maybe you _should_ have bought my coffee.”

Renjun dared to step on Jeno’s toes beneath the table, resulting in a comically overblown _ouch, ouch, ouch_ as Jeno clutched his foot and feigned pain.

Renjun realized that he wasn’t as afraid as he thought he would be. Jeno was easy to talk to. He was still intimidated by his good looks, but then he would remind himself that they were just two friends hanging out after class, and it made it easier. _It’s just like getting coffee with Yangyang,_ he told himself. He gave himself a mental pat on the back. _Job well done on acting like a normal person._

He got braver with his questions. He wanted to know more about Jeno. “You must have been pretty smart in high school, right?” he asked. “Reddings isn’t exactly an easy university to get into.”

“I was a hard worker,” Jeno answered. He quirked a brow, the one with the ring, and it glinted under the cafe lights. “Why? Do I not seem the smarty-pants type, with the piercings and stuff?”

“Oh — no —” Renjun waved his hands frantically. _You just had to ruin it. Pat on the back revoked._ “I didn’t mean it like that. Really. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I get it. Most Reddings kids wear expensive sweaters and boat shoes for their fancy yachts.”

Renjun blushed and sunk down into his sweater’s turtleneck. It was, in fact, quite expensive.

“I’m only messing with you,” Jeno said, noticing the awkward atmosphere. “But it’s kind of true — I don’t fit in here the same way a lot of kids do. The poor punky kid who doesn’t even throw out his hole-y tees and socks. Running to work right after class. That’s why I had to work so hard in high school. I never would have gotten in otherwise, if I didn’t have stellar grades.”

Renjun swallowed. Impulsively, he wanted to tell Jeno something, something he’d never told anyone before.

“Sometimes,” he murmured, “I think my dad pulled strings to get me in.”

Jeno’s eyes rounded. He rubbed his fingers slowly against the cupsleeve on his coffee, contemplative and unsure. “Why do you say that?”

“I didn’t do great in high school. Actually, my grades kind of got fucked up, because I… I barely participated in class.” Renjun spoke around the truth carefully, not wanting to talk about the anxiety and the psychologist and the diagnosis. “I only applied to Reddings because my dad told me I should. Now I know that he’s friends with a bunch of people on the admissions board. He’s even had dinner with the school’s president, so… he probably paid them or something. I don’t know.”

Jeno didn’t respond for a moment. He watched outside the cafe window, where the buses were lining up.

“You shouldn’t say that kind of stuff about yourself,” he finally said.

“It’s true.”

“Have you tried talking to your dad about it?”

“No. How privileged would that be? Complaining that I get to go to a good school…” Renjun pulled the sleeves of his sweater over his hands and covered his face. Here he was, in the middle of a cafe, spilling his most private thoughts to a boy he barely knew. _Jeno probably thinks I’m out of my mind._

They sat in the dull din of the conversations around them for a moment. Renjun stared down into his latte, mostly undrinken, as the foam swirled and dissolved at the top. The bubbles broke. He counted them like he would usually count his breaths.

“Do you want to play Scrabble?” Jeno asked.

“What?” Renjun snapped his gaze away from the latte, back up. Jeno was leaning over and picking up a game board box from the bottom row of the bookshelf beside them.

“Scrabble,” he said again. “Wanna play a round?”

Renjun breathed in and breathed out, stirring the surface of his drink.

“Okay,” he said.

“Do you like Scrabble?”

“Yeah. I’m really good at it.”

“Good,” Jeno responded, grinning and shaking the bag of letters.

Renjun _was_ really good at scrabble. He beat Jeno handily (“exile” on a triple word space for 36, “squeeze,” using all his letters for 75), which Jeno was an excellent sport about, offering Renjun a humble high-five before they began to pick up. Renjun forgot about his earlier mishap, and it was like hanging out with a friend again. No pressure, no shame.

He had his evening class at four, and Jeno had to leave for work. Jeno offered to walk him to his lecture hall, and they strolled along the walking path past the bus stop. Renjun was still sipping at his latte, which was lukewarm by now — but it was a good sign that he’d barely drank it, because the reason was that he’d been so absorbed in their conversation that he’d barely thought to pick it up. Now, he just sipped and listened, as Jeno told him about the time he’d accidentally shown up in the wrong classroom freshman year and sat through an entire class on the history of World War I because he’d been afraid of leaving and seeming rude. Renjun laughed along, watching the intensity with which Jeno told his story, all moving hands and crinkled eyes and toothy smile.

They stopped at the side entrance to the lecture hall, at the top of a grassy hill that led down to the parking lot.

“I parked over there,” Jeno said, vaguely pointing behind him. “So I’ll get going.”

“Oh.” Renjun had forgotten that he couldn’t simply take Jeno to class with him and listen to him talk for the rest of the day. He would have liked that. He might have skipped class, too, and they could have gone and lain on the grass and watched the early evening clouds, and Jeno could have kept talking, talking, talking, and Renjun could have closed his eyes to the sound of his voice as if it were music, and he could have been perfectly happy like that.

Renjun did not want it to end. He lingered, staring downward as he played with his fingers against his cup, wishing it could last forever.

When he looked up, it was because Jeno had leaned in, eyes on Renjun’s lips, waiting for Renjun to close the gap.

“Uh,” Renjun said. He took a step back into the brick wall.

Jeno completely froze. “Oh — oh. I. Sorry, I thought — I thought you were waiting for me to kiss you.”

“Uh,” Renjun said again. He gripped the strap of his messenger bag and felt the sweat from his palms seeping into it.

“Sorry.” Jeno scratched the back of his head. A pale blush had filled his cheeks. It was the first time Renjun had seen him looking properly shy. _Full of surprises,_ he thought again faintly, though it was nearly drowned out by the beating of his heart.

“Was this a date?” he asked.

“I thought you knew… I guess I should have been clearer. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Renjun said quickly. “It’s okay. I’m just bad at picking up on that stuff.” He couldn’t believe he’d turned away a kiss from Jeno. It was just last night he’d been dreaming about one. But he figured it was too late for a second try. He’d made it too awkward. “Maybe next time?” he tried, cringing at how desperate he sounded.

“Yeah,” Jeno said. “Next time.”

Renjun nodded, pulled open the door, and ran inside. He didn’t go to class but, into the nearest bathroom instead, throwing his still unfinished latte in the metal waste bin. He shut himself inside a stall and plopped down to sit on the toilet seat cover. If there hadn’t been another guy at the urinal, he might have taken the opportunity to scream.

 _Jeno asked me out, and I didn’t even know it. He wanted to kiss me. He wants to ask me out_ again, _and he’ll want to kiss me then, too._

The bathroom door opened and closed as the other guy left.

Like he had on the sidewalk outside the record shop, Renjun danced alone in his stall. Then he went out, checked himself in the mirror to make sure he wasn’t totally flushed, and left five minutes late for his class.

—

Yangyang was picking all the sesame seeds off the top of his sub. Renjun always asked him why he didn’t just get the plain white bread, but Yangyang insisted that the sesame roll was far fluffier and more delicious, except he hated sesame seeds. A little pile of them was started in the bottom of his unfolded sub wrapper.

“So,” he said, chewing at the same time. “Run into Jeno since our detour last time?”

Renjun sucked suspiciously on the straw of his Hi-C. “Hrm.”

“Oh, come on. It was such a great opportunity. No way you didn’t act on it.”

Arms crossed, chin raised, Renjun said, “Well, it wouldn’t really be your business, anyway.”

“I set the whole thing up! You wouldn’t have gone inside without me!”

Renjun’s phone buzzed.

Yangyang launched for it before Renjun could move a muscle. He swiveled sideways in his chair while Renjun tugged aggressively at the shoulders of his sweatshirt.

“Text from Jeno?” Yangyang observed with a smirk. “You really did get his number!”

Renjun kicked Yangyang’s shins under the table. Yangyang relinquished the phone with a groan and it hit the table.

“He’s asking you to go to a concert,” Yangyang said between pained hisses.

“What? Really?” Renjun nabbed his phone back and opened the text. There it was, just like Yangyang said:

_Hey! Are you busy on Friday night? A local band is doing a concert at this club I know. I was wondering if you wanted to go with me (this would be a date)._

Renjun grimaced at the last line, though he was very happy at the same time.

“You didn’t have to kick me,” Yangyang whined, rubbing his shin. “Well? Are you gonna go with him?”

Renjun turned his phone over on the table and poked at his half-eaten turkey sub. He’d suddenly lost his appetite. “Probably not.”

“What? Why not?” Yangyang dove forward, elbows banging on the table top and raining crumbs on the tile floor. “Renjun! The hot record shop boy wants to take you on a date!”

“I know.” Renjun frowned, eyes squinting. The sub shop lights went fuzzy and out of focus. “Concerts just aren’t really my thing. Too many people. Too noisy.”

“You can’t let that stop you _now!”_ Yangyang grabbed one of Renjun’s hands and squeezed it pleadingly between his own. “You can’t pass up this opportunity! You might not get asked on another date ever again!”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You know what I mean. He likes you, and obviously you like him.” Yangyang removed one hand, and tapped a nail on the back of Renjun’s phone. “You can’t let a little fear get in the way.”

Renjun wondered how many regrets he would have if he didn’t go. Maybe Jeno would lose interest in him, and the texts would become further and further apart, and it would be as if they’d never even met. Yangyang had been joking, but Renjun was very afraid that he was undateable. It was possible that he _wouldn’t_ ever be asked on another date again. He would spend the rest of his life in the solitude of his blue-painted bedroom, staring at the ceiling and listening to sad songs. This could be his only chance.

Renjun texted back:

_That sounds fun. Where should I meet you?_

—

“So what friend is this again?” Renjun’s father asked him. He was in the driver’s seat, still wearing his fine white shirt and slacks from work, though his suit jacket had been left at home on the living room ottoman.

“You haven’t met him. He goes to Reddings.”

“Oh. I see. It’s nice that you’re making new friends this year.”

“Haha, yeah,” Renjun responded, though he felt a little chill creeping up under his collar.

He’d asked his father to drive him to the concert. Renjun couldn’t drive himself, and he certainly didn’t want to take his bike downtown again after the last time. His father had agreed easily, so long as Renjun was back before one in the morning. Renjun suspected his father was very happy to learn his son did, in fact, have some kind of social life.

He did not tell his dad that it was a date.

The beans would be spilled eventually. Especially since his mother was terrible with secrets; he expected her to accidentally break the news one of these nights, if he didn’t step up and do it himself. It wasn’t that he was afraid of his father’s disapproval — the man was a typical upper-class New England democrat, which meant it would probably not be the end of the world to discover his son was gay. Renjun was more afraid that his father would say, “A boyfriend? You ought to invite him over sometime,” and then Renjun would _have_ to, and Jeno would have to sit at their long shiny dining table and be subjected to a thorough interview to determine his suitability, and maybe his mom would even tell the embarrassing pee story again.

Renjun did not want Jeno to meet his parents. Possibly ever, if he could get away with it.

So when they arrived at the club, parked at the corner of the block, Renjun got quickly out of the car in case his father should want to linger, and said, “I’ll call you when it’s over. Okay?”

“Okay. You sure your friend’s here?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I’ll be able to find him just fine. See you.”

His father rolled up the car window and drove away. Renjun took a deep breath, and walked towards the club entrance.

Jeno was waiting outside, just as he’d promised. He looked especially sexy tonight, Renjun thought — hair swept back, sinfully tight jeans with rips on the thighs, a thin white tee that Renjun tried desperately to peer through, though he stopped when he realized how obvious he was being. Over top of it was a denim jacket, shredded along the hems and at the back, and covered in patches and pins. He wished they weren’t going into a noisy club, because he wanted to ask Jeno to tell him about all those patches, explain what they meant, learn every little thing about him.

“Hey,” Jeno said, grinning. “Good thing I got here when I did. I knew you’d be fashionably early.”

“How long till it starts?”

“Fifteen minutes. Though we ought to head in now to get a decent spot.” His eyes roved over Renjun, just as Renjun had done to him just a moment ago, and he chuckled softly. “Even to a rock show, you wore a sweater and khakis?”

“Ah —” Renjun lifted his arms uselessly. “It’s kind of the only thing I own.”

Jeno immediately began to shrug off his jacket, and held it over Renjun’s shoulders so he could slip his arms inside. “Here. You’ll look a little less out of place with this on.”

Renjun blushed as he put it on. It was oversized on him, and didn’t match with the rest of his ensemble. But when he wrapped it around himself, he could smell Jeno’s scent on it (just the same scent as he’d picked up at the record shop, earthy cologne, hair gel), and he prayed he would never have to take it off.

“Let’s go, kid,” Jeno said. He placed his hand at the small of Renjun’s back and pushed him towards the door.

The club was dark aside from the occasional burst of bright white near the stage as they tested the lights. Even though they’d gotten there early, there were already people filling the floor, bodies so close together that Renjun got a second-hand feverishness just by looking at them, as if he could sense their body heat. The air smelled like beer, which Renjun was not used to — he never went to parties, and the only alcohol they had at home was his mom’s favorite red wine and his father’s expensive, performatively manly whiskey with a cowboy on the label. He wondered why the scent was so strong, until he stepped in a puddle of it on the floor, pouring from a dropped but unretrieved bottle.

“Ew,” he said, yoinking his foot back.

“Yeah. That’ll happen. Just be careful.”

“Are we really allowed to be here?” Renjun asked nervously. “We’re only twenty.”

“Technically, the concert is open to eighteen and ups. We just can’t buy drinks.”

This didn’t make Renjun feel any better. He moved closer to Jeno, clinging onto his arm as they parted the crowd to slip through.

They managed to secure a decent spot near the middle-front of the club floor. The band was stepping out now, picking up their instruments and giving them a few cautious plucks as the lights turned on over them.

“So this is a local band?” Renjun asked.

“Yeah. I’ve seen them a couple times. They mostly do covers of old stuff. They’re pretty good, too.”

A man pushed in from the side, carrying an open beer with a runnel of fizz streaming down its neck. He elbowed right into Renjun, who gave a surprised yelp. The man didn’t seem to hear him, and stayed where he was, standing so close to Renjun that it was making him claustrophobic.

Jeno, who’d been watching the stage, turned at the sound of Renjun’s voice, gaze darting around curiously. “What? Is something wrong?”

“No,” Renjun murmured. He pressed even closer to Jeno’s side, trying to make himself small. “It’s nothing.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

The band’s frontman approached the mic then, tapping on it before he started to speak. The crowd listened quietly, aside from a few punctuating whoops and a round of applause as the first song was announced. The drums banged as it started, and the guitars came in next, racing over the beat, competing with each other. Renjun was shocked at the loudness, and he impulsively covered his ears against it, shrinking back like it might physically knock him over. It took him a full minute or so to adapt to it, finally able to withstand the volume without wincing.

The crowd started getting really into it — fistpumping, jumping, roaring. Even Jeno beside him was cheering as the band moved onto their second song. Renjun bit his lip and promised himself he would try to enjoy it. It was just a concert, and this was just a date. _Two things normal people do all the time._

It seemed as though there were some late arrivals, because the club floor only filled in further, making it impossible for Renjun to keep more than a couple inches between him and everyone else. It became stifling, too warm for comfort, and Renjun, much to his surprise, found he _did_ want to take off Jeno’s jacket. He left it on anyway, in fear of dropping it on the grimy club floor or losing it, and instead tugged at the collar of his sweater, trying to generate a little airflow. Sweat beaded along his hairline, one droplet running down his temple.

He felt a nudge on his arm. He looked up at Jeno, who was trying to say something to him, except the music was so loud that Renjun couldn’t hear it.

“What?” he shouted.

Jeno repeated himself, but it was lost to the shredding guitars and booming speakers again.

Renjun didn’t want to ask him to say it a third time, so he simply nodded as if he’d understood and put on a forced smile.

The setlist had to be halfway over, Renjun thought, since it felt like he’d been stuck in that sticky, hot club for days and his ears were beginning to buzz. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, trying to clear it; when he looked around next, Jeno was not beside him, and he was alone in the sea of bodies.

“Jeno?” he shouted, as if he could be heard above the ruckus. The spot where Jeno had been was already filled in by a stranger, a tall girl who was so pale she looked like a ghost. Renjun timidly tried to slip through, though the girl didn’t seem to notice. He tapped her on the shoulder and did not receive any acknowledgement, so he steeled himself to push past her, leading with his shoulder. The girl noticed him then, and shot him an offended look as he bumped into her. He tried to apologize, but his words were swallowed up. Helplessly, and red in the cheeks, he kept moving.

There was a lightning-sharp crash on a high hat. The crowd’s energy hit another peak, and Renjun was jostled sideways, pushed by an invisible hand. He slammed face-first into a man’s back, and though he was a large man, Renjun’s impact was enough to make him stumble. He whipped around, and Renjun registered very quickly that the man had had too much to drink, eyes out of focus and movement laggy as he prodded Renjun in the chest with a finger. “Watch where you’re going,” he growled.

Renjun could hear it very, very clearly, despite the music.

“I —” Renjun wanted to say, _I’m sorry,_ but the words got stuck. This guy could probably snap him over his knee like a twig. And he could probably tell that Renjun was completely out of place — he must have looked so impossibly silly with his too-big denim jacket over his sweater and his terrified, round eyes, like a trembling puppy.

“Did you hear me?” the man bellowed. “Watch where you’re fucking going.”

Renjun opened his mouth again, and all he produced was an undignified croak. Tears pricked hot at the corners of his eyes.

His fight or flight instinct kicked in, and pushed him decisively towards flight. He took off in the other direction, trying to weave through but feeling like a glass bottle being tossed on the ocean. Luckily, this way, there seemed to be a stronger current — he was spat out somewhere along the far wall, next to the bathroom doors. He shoved into the men’s room.

Inside, he could still feel the shaking of the bass through the floors, but its sound was blessedly muffled. One stall door was shut, but otherwise, he was alone. He allowed himself to cry in the corner by the door, pressing the sleeves of Jeno’s jacket over his eyes. He’d _known_ this was a terrible idea. He’d known he would embarrass himself somehow, and that he just wasn’t suited to a place like this, and the concert wasn’t even over yet which meant he was going to have to go back out there and withstand it for God knew how long despite how badly he just wanted to go home. _This is why you never make any progress. You’re scared shitless by everything. You always give up._

The door opened again. Jeno was holding two bottles of water.

“There you are,” he said, words descending like a relieved sigh. “I lost you for a while. Are you okay?”

Renjun reluctantly brought his hands down. There were still tears clinging to his cheeks.

“Oh my god,” Jeno whispered. He gently dragged Renjun over to the sinks, pushed one water bottle into his hands, and grabbed a wad of paper towels from the dispenser. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Renjun mumbled. “It’s not a big deal.”

“You don’t have to lie.” Jeno reached up to wipe Renjun’s face.

Renjun gave a startled jump in response, but didn’t move away from the touch. “I didn’t know where you went.”

“You looked hot, like you were gonna faint or something. I went to the bar to grab water.” Jeno patted each of Renjun’s cheeks one more time, then tapped the bottle. “Drink some of it. It’ll make you feel better.”

Renjun twisted the cap off with a shaky hand and took a long sip. The coolness did help, calming the red-hot fry of his nerves. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I — I shouldn’t have come here tonight. I knew I wouldn’t like this kind of place, and now I’m ruining it for you —”

“Renjun. If you didn’t want to come here, you could have just told me. I’d have been happy to go somewhere else.”

“But… I thought you really liked this stuff.”

“I’ve been to a million concerts.” Jeno leaned back against the edge of the sink, soft-voiced and sincere as he said, “I just wanted to spend time with you.”

Renjun’s cheeks heated back up, but this time it was with a pleased glow. He wondered what it was that Jeno saw in him. He was just an anxious rich kid with no friends and no hobbies and nothing to offer. Meanwhile, Jeno was... dazzling. Handsome. Clever. Sweet. Passionate. He offered so much, it was overwhelming, like he’d tipped the scale so far that he’d sent Renjun flying.

The pleasure faded. Renjun became aware of the buzzing in his ears again.

“You should go back out and finish the concert,” he said. “I can just call my dad.”

Jeno shook his head. “I don’t want to stay if you don’t want to. Don’t bother your dad. I can give you a ride home.”

“Are you sure?”

“‘Course I am. Let’s go.”

Jeno was parked at the record shop; he’d walked to the club after work. They made their way through the downtown streets, shoulder-to-shoulder on the sidewalk while the moon glowed above them, even brighter than the streetlights. It was just the time of night that the only people on the sidewalks were barhoppers, laughing and striding crookedly with linked arms. Renjun had the faint thought that these people were probably college kids like him, and only the briefest glimpse at their lives made him feel insignificant in comparison. Weren’t college kids supposed to be flashing fake IDs and kissing strangers and dancing without a care who was watching? Renjun had never done any of those things. He was wasting what youth he had left. He walked with his head down, watching his sneakers.

It took ten minutes to get back to the record shop. Renjun nearly turned down the alley to where he thought Jeno must be parked, but Jeno placed a hand on his arm and said, “Actually, do you wanna go inside for a second? There was something I wanted to show you.”

“Huh? Isn’t it closed?”

“Yeah. But I have the key.”

Renjun gave Jeno a sidelong glance, thinking this was maybe the kind of thing that could get an employee in trouble, but he let Jeno guide him inside anyway, bell jangling in the pitch dark. Jeno reached along the wall to flip the lights on, which reflected in the darkness of the shop front windows. “Hold on —” Jeno said, racing behind the desk. “Close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

Renjun took an indignant breath as if he thought it was silly, but he was half-smiling too as he shut his eyes. He heard the sound of rummaging from behind the counter, a mysterious clicking, and the crinkle he recognized as a vinyl being pulled from a sleeve. Silence. The _shhhp_ of a guided needle arm. A song started playing, and then from behind his eyelids, Renjun could sense a change in the light.

“Okay. You can open your eyes now.”

Renjun did, and he could only let out a gasp in reaction. Strung up along all the walls, above the shelves and trailing down them, were golden fairy lights. They glittered delicately like fireflies, seeming to float above Renjun’s head. He turned slowly beneath them, trying to trace their lines, carve them into his memory. He squinted, and they blurred, particles diffusing like fireworks, like neon lights in a rain puddle. He felt as if he was a snowman at the center of a whirling snow globe.

He turned far enough that he faced the counter, and his breath was stolen a second time. There were candles lit along it ( _the click of a lighter,_ Renjun realized late), and Jeno standing behind them, watching Renjun with his pretty, bowed-lipped smile. The candlelight glinted in his eyes, full of alluring warmth. The song playing was one Renjun didn’t know, though he knew it was a Cure song — by now, he’d know those fluttery, sentimentality-dripping guitar notes anywhere.

“What do you think?” Jeno asked.

“It’s so beautiful,” Renjun answered with hushed awe. “Jeno… you didn’t have to do something like this.”

“I wanted to.” He waved a hand. “Come over here.”

Renjun stepped up to the behind-the-counter area, still gazing around like he’d stepped into a new world. Jeno brought him closer to the record player and leaned a palm against the table. “I think this might be my favorite song. I wanted you to hear it with me.”

“What song is it?”

“ _Friday I’m In Love._ It’s kind of cheesy, but… it always makes me so happy when I hear it.”

Renjun listened closely, ear tilted towards the music.

_I don't care if Monday's blue_

_Tuesday's grey and Wednesday too_

_Thursday, I don't care about you_

_It's Friday, I'm in love_

_Monday you can fall apart_

_Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart_

_Oh, Thursday doesn't even start_

_It's Friday, I'm in love_

Renjun understood why Jeno loved it. It wasn’t subtly brooding like _Lovesong_ was, happy and sad at the same time. It was about casting off sadness, being unabashedly happy for a short, blissful moment. The indomitable kind of happiness that sadness could never touch, because it was born out of love, and you knew that love was real.

Jeno extended a hand. “May I have this dance?”

Renjun giggled, and took it. He didn’t know how to dance, and clearly Jeno did not either — they performed a clumsy waltz, trying to imitate the way they saw it in the movies, but Renjun kept stepping on Jeno’s toes, and then they nearly danced right into the wall. Jeno laughed the loveliest laugh Renjun had ever heard, lovelier than even the music.

Their drifting lifted the end of Jeno’s t-shirt sleeve, exposing the edge of a dark line. Renjun stopped, and asked, “Jeno. That’s a tattoo, right?” He hadn’t noticed it in the dark of the streets or the club, but now he could see it faintly through the white fabric.

“Yeah.” Jeno rolled his sleeve up and extended his arm. Large on his bicep was a hummingbird, captured in mid-flight, wings extended. There was no color to it, but it was drawn in immaculate detail, every wisp of its feathers rendered carefully. It wasn’t what Renjun had expected — too dainty, too delicate. He’d always imagined that Jeno’s tattoo would be a tiger or a zombie or a bleeding heart.

“It’s so pretty,” he said. “Why a hummingbird?”

“It’s my mom’s favorite animal,” Jeno explained. “She hooked up a hummingbird feeder on our apartment’s fire escape, and when I was little we used to watch for them in the summer. But the real reason I got it, is because I think she’s just like one.” He smiled down at his tattoo, full of love. “My mom — she’s this tiny lady, but she works like crazy. She’s a single mother, so she’s always had to support me by herself. But she never seems tired and never slows down. Just like a little hummingbird.”

It was right then that Renjun realized exactly what it was that he loved most about Jeno. He was always so earnest. There was no pretense, no putting up a front. The way he dressed was not a costume, the music he listened to was not for show, the tattoo on his arm not an aesthetic quirk, but a tribute.

Without thinking, Renjun reached out to touch it, finger brushing the edge of the hummingbird’s wing. Then he became self-aware, as if the contact had given him an electric shock. Renjun flinched and looked up into Jeno’s face, where the thrill was mirrored. He could hear Jeno breathe and hold it in, licking his lips hesitantly but hungrily, waiting for a signal.

Renjun nodded.

Jeno’s hands met his waist and Renjun’s back met the shelf, pressed against it as Jeno kissed him. Renjun had never kissed anyone before. He let Jeno take the lead, sucking softly on Renjun’s top lip, breaking just to bridge it again, kissing him deeper. It was not scary like Renjun had expected; the nerves melted away with the knowledge that he was perfectly safe, loved for who he was and not for what anyone wanted him to be. He still didn’t understand what Jeno saw in him, but he decided that it wasn’t worth worrying over so long as he could circle his arms around Jeno’s neck and feel Jeno’s arms circling him back.

The barest hint of Jeno’s tongue along his lip made him shiver. He parted his lips to let it in, chasing that shiver, hoping it never faded. Jeno’s tongue pushed in further, and Renjun panted against it. An aroused prickle started at his lips and spread lower, every hair on end.

Jeno’s hand slipped to the front of Renjun’s pants, rubbing his erection through the fabric. Renjun moaned and pressed into the touch, already feeling the pleasure starting to build. Jeno palmed him harder, teasing him, eliciting a slight buck of Renjun’s hips.

Renjun threw his head back, nearly whacking it off the shelf as Jeno kissed his throat. It was a wet kiss, then just the tracing of Jeno’s tongue in a line, like he was coaxing the words out of Renjun: “Jeno — touch me —”

Jeno complied, quickly, undoing the button of Renjun’s pants deftly with one hand and then slipping inside, beneath the waistband of his underwear.

“Fuck,” Renjun hissed. Jeno was stroking him slowly, so slowly that Renjun wanted to thrust into his hand, but he resisted, closing his eyes and trying to focus on the sensation. It was way, _way_ better than doing it himself, maybe because Jeno was still nipping gently at his neck, and maybe because he was pretty sure that he could feel Jeno’s hard-on pushing up against his thigh, grinding like he was trying to get off, too. The thought made it a million times hotter, and he let out another moan.

“Are you a virgin?” Jeno murmured.

“Maybe,” Renjun answered breathlessly.

He felt a puff of air on his neck as Jeno chuckled. “Never had a blowjob?”

“No.”

Jeno stroked him harder. Renjun’s knees shook, like they might give out. In a moment of simultaneous relief and disappointment, Jeno took his hand out and kissed Renjun once more properly on the mouth.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” Renjun said, seconds away from begging.

Jeno tugged Renjun’s pants down further, exposing him, which Renjun might have usually been shy about except he had no time to even register it before Jeno was on his knees in front of him, mouth open like an invitation.

—

Renjun cleaned up in the record shop bathroom. It had not been a long engagement (it was his first time, afterall; in his eternal kindness, Jeno did not comment upon it), and now it was getting late. Definitely past one o’clock. He hoped his father was not still up and waiting for him.

He looked in the mirror. A reddish circle was stamped at the crook of his neck. He prodded it with a finger, and couldn’t keep a huge smile from taking over his face.

When he stepped back out, Moony had emerged from somewhere in the dark, staring up at Renjun with his big gold eyes. Renjun wondered if the damn cat had seen the entire thing, which he knew was a silly thing to be concerned about, but it bothered him anyway. He was thankful, though, that he had not come out and rubbed on Renjun’s leg again during the midst of… _yeah._ Renjun tried not to think about it.

Jeno was pulling his jacket on, which Renjun had left for him on the counter. “Ready to go?” he asked.

What Renjun really wanted to do was let the night last longer. Maybe they could go somewhere, like a shitty motel, and makeout on the bed. Maybe Renjun could return Jeno’s favor — the thought gave him another shiver — and then they could fall asleep together, and wake up next to each other in the morning.

Renjun knew he had to go home, or his parents might file a missing persons report, so he did not say any of this. He followed Jeno back outside, turning down the side alley.

He had expected a car, but in the dark of the alley, he could see the curved glint of a single headlight. At first he thought it was a motorcycle — handles, wheel at the front, chipped red paint. It wasn’t until he got closer and moved to see it from the side that he realized it was an electric scooter, one of the ones with the seat and the flat spot to put your feet. Rust ate away at the metal, which Renjun took to mean it had been around the block a few times. Jeno started the engine, which gave a rattle like an old man’s cough, confirming Renjun’s hunch, making him weary of getting on in case it collapsed beneath him.

“Is this, uh… safe?” he asked.

“Of course it’s safe.”

“For a second I thought it was a motorcycle.”

Jeno laughed. “I can’t afford a motorcycle. Got this guy used for a steal.” He sat down, and patted the spot behind him. “Get on.”

Like always, in every way, Jeno was softer than he seemed. No motorcycle, no bad attitude, no cigarettes. He was a bad boy, minus the bad.

Renjun hesitated, but sat anyway. The scooter sank beneath his weight. He grimaced and hugged his arms around Jeno’s waist.

The scooter pulled out of the alley and turned onto the main street. Renjun did not like the way it slanted on the corner, making him feel like he was going to fall off and skid his face off the cement. He squeezed Jeno tighter, curling the front of his t-shirt in his fists.

“Okay back there?” Jeno asked. He was only semi-audible above the hacking engine.

“Yes,” Renjun said. He was twenty years old. He refused to admit that he was afraid of riding a scooter.

He tried to look around as they sped through the downtown, but that made him realize how fast they were going. The buildings blurred by him, and out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of the road beneath them, which almost seemed as if it was the thing moving, rolling like a treadmill, instead of them. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his face into the back of Jeno’s jacket. He felt the rumble of Jeno’s laugh through it.

Renjun kept his head down for the rest of the ride. Eventually, he felt the scooter slow to a stop, and Jeno tapped him on the back of his hand, signaling that they’d reached their destination. Renjun stepped off. It took his body a moment to readjust to the feeling of being stationary — it still felt like he was flying through the air.

“I’ll see you later,” Jeno said. He put a hand at Renjun’s hip, pulling him back for a kiss. Renjun leaned into it, one knee perched on the edge of the scooter’s seat. If Jeno was his first and only kiss, Renjun thought he wouldn’t mind it — no way to beat what was already perfect.

Jeno’s hand slipped from Renjun’s hip to give him a firm pat on the ass, which Renjun nearly jumped out of his skin at.

“ _Hey,_ ” Renjun said, blushing, though he’d kind of liked it.

“It was free real estate.” Jeno turned the engine back on. “G’night, baby.”

“Good night,” Renjun echoed. He watched Jeno pull away, red scooter fading into the dark of the night.

_Baby._

Renjun pressed his sleeve over his mouth and smiled into it.

—

 _Am I supposed to wear anything fancy?_ Jeno’s text read, as Renjun paced in a circle around the rug in his bedroom.

 _What do you mean?_ Renjun typed back. _It’s just dinner. Wear whatever you want._

_Well. I just don’t want to look silly in front of your parents._

Renjun had told his father he had a boyfriend just last night. They’d all been sitting around the dining room table, and his dad had been cutting his grilled chicken breast on his plate, while his mother had sipped from her frosted water class, ice rattling daintily inside. Renjun had poked idly at his green beans, still unable to stop thinking about the record shop and Jeno’s hands and Jeno’s mouth and how Jeno had already messaged him to ask if he wanted to hang out the next day. He had a boyfriend, for the first time in his life.

He was so happy, it just kind of slipped out of him.

“I have a boyfriend,” he’d said quietly, to no one in particular.

“What?” his mom had said.

“I have a boyfriend,” he’d repeated, more confidently.

His father had dropped his knife. It had clattered on his plate and flung a few granules of black pepper over the tablecloth. “You have a _what_?”

“A boyfriend. His name is Jeno. He goes to Reddings and works at a record shop downtown.”

His mother had pressed her lips together and dabbed at them with her napkin.

“Did you know about this?” Renjun’s father had asked her.

“I knew it was a possibility,” she’d murmured. She’d thunked her chest with a fist and produced an awkward cough. “He told me a little while ago that he was gay. The boyfriend thing is new, though.”

His father had rubbed a finger above his eyebrow as if trying to flatten the crease of his wrinkles. “Why was I the last person to know about this? Did you think I would fly off the handle or something?”

“I guess I just never thought to tell you,” Renjun had lied.

“Christ.” His father had clasped his hands and pressed his thumbs to his mouth. “Well. Are we going to meet him at some point? Or is he going to stay a mystery?”

And that was how Jeno ended up invited for dinner the very next evening. Renjun had felt bad about springing it on him at such short notice, but his mom had already begun planning the meal and picking out her favorite dinnerware and choosing what dress to wear, and he didn’t want to kill her enthusiasm. It was nice to see the shift in her energy from desperate matchmaking to eager support of the choice he’d made himself.

Now, at quarter to five, Renjun took his pacing downstairs, waiting anxiously in the front foyer for Jeno to arrive. He hadn’t been nervous until about an hour ago, when he could smell the beginnings of dinner cooking from the kitchen, and it dawned on him that this was really happening. Jeno was going to meet his parents and see his house. No wonder he’d seemed so worried in the texts — Renjun had to admit that his family could be a bit intimidating to an outsider.

There was a buzz from the pad by the door. Renjun raced to press the button, mumbled an indistinct “be right there” into it, then clumsily yanked on his shoes to run down the driveway. He could see Jeno standing behind the gate as he approached, eyes gigantic and framed by the iron beams as he stared up at them. It made him look unusually small.

“Hey,” he said, as Renjun entered the punch code and the gate flew open. “You weren’t kidding about your parents being rich. You’ve got a gate and a mile-long driveway and everything.”

“It isn’t a mile long,” Renjun countered, as if that changed anything. Somehow, Jeno knowing exactly how rich his parents were was uncomfortable. Like the mere act of inviting Jeno to the house was some grand display of their wealth, like Renjun was rubbing it in his face. He walked brusquely back up, while Jeno trailed slightly behind, craning his head to take in all corners of their wide, meticulously attended yard.

The house itself came into sight, and Jeno whistled. “Wow.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know it’s a lot.”

“Sorry. I’m just kind of amazed. I’ve never been inside a house like this.”

“Well — prepare yourself, then —” Renjun twisted the knob and pushed the door open. Before they could even take their shoes off, his mother came veering around the entryway corner, huge smile framed by orchid-pink lips.

“Hello!” she said. “You must be Jeno.”

In his typically easy-going way, Jeno grinned and offered a gentle shake of her hand. “Yeah. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Huang.”

She studied him up and down, eyes going a bit blank but her smile unwavering. Renjun could tell she was trying to weigh the two extremes, Jeno’s incredibly good manners versus his patch-covered denim jacket and faded old jeans with torn cuffs. It was as if she was encountering a strange new animal at a zoo exhibit.

“Oh, you’re very handsome,” she finally said, overcoming her internal debate. “Renjun’s father will be home from work in about half an hour, so I’ve planned dinner to be ready then. Sound good?”

“Sounds great. Thank you.”

Renjun’s mother walked jauntily back through the hall towards the kitchen. Renjun waited until she was out of sight, and said, “So. What should we do now?”

“What about a house tour?” Jeno suggested. “I’d like to see it all. You grew up in this house, right?”

“Yeah.” Renjun led him through the high archway into the parlor. A mini chandelier, assembled from champagne-colored crystals, hung above their heads. Along one wall was a glass-doored bookshelf and a plush reading chair. On the other side was a velvety green couch which sat audience to the grand piano, shined to mirror-black perfection by the cleaning lady that morning.

“Whoa,” Jeno breathed. “Is this the living room?”

“It’s the parlor.”

“Most houses do not have parlors.”

“Well, this one does.”

“Ooh —” Jeno hurried over to the piano, walking slowly around it but seeming afraid that his hand might be swatted away if he tried to touch it. “It’s so pretty. Do you play?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“Makes sense, since you said you like classical stuff…” Jeno ducked his head to look inside at the strings. “Will you play me something?”

Renjun shuffled his feet. “Uh…”

“Please?” Jeno put on his most adorable, pleading smile. The one that made him look like a giant, over-eager puppy. “I want to hear it.”

Renjun snorted, but went around to sit down at the bench anyway, flexing his fingers. He hadn’t played in a little while, with school and homework taking up most of his time. Quickly, he scanned his brain for something he could play from memory, and plunked his first note on one of the white keys, the clear sound resonating through the room. The beauty, the familiarity of it helped to build his confidence, and the rest of his fingers fell into place, gliding across the notes and letting them flow with ease. This had always been the one thing he took pride in. Still, it felt like he was revealing some part of himself that Jeno had never seen before. It was intimate. Renjun would not have shared that kind of intimacy with anyone else.

While he played, Jeno leaned against the near wall, head tilted towards his shoulder, eyes shut as he listened. A smile still clung to him, turning his lips up at the corners, playful and peaceful at the same time.

Renjun hit the last note. It resonated for a long time, fading so slowly that Renjun felt like it never ended. Jeno opened his eyes, then nudged Renjun’s shoulder, indicating for him to move down the bench so they could sit together.

“That was _Clair de Lune,_ right?’

“Yeah,” Renjun said. “You know it?”

“Of course I do. It’s famous.” He held one finger above the keys, and glanced up at Renjun, waiting for his permission. Renjun nodded, and Jeno began to play them lightly, random and unskilled like a child. “I can’t even play _Chopsticks,_ ” he explained. “Well. Maybe I could figure it out, if you gave me a fews hours.”

Renjun laughed. “Don’t be ashamed. I’ve been playing since I was five, so I’m kind of a pro.”

“Wow. I ought to have you teach me the basics.” Jeno played a simple scale up and down the high-end of the keys. “I listen to a lot of music, but I never learned to play much, aside from middle-school band. I guess I’m more of an appreciator. It’s funny, how much of my life revolves around music, even though I barely understand the mechanics of it.”

Renjun watched Jeno’s profile. He could see something moving behind his eyes, maybe a memory playing over, and it tinted them with a tender affection as he continued to poke at the keys. That was the way Renjun had always looked at a piano, too, though over time it had become complicated.

He scooted closer to Jeno on the bench, so their legs touched. “Can I tell you something?” he asked.

“Of course you can.” Jeno raised his hand from the keys, offering Renjun a silent stage.

“I always wanted to be a pianist,” Renjun began. “Ever since I first started playing. I loved it so much. It made me feel so calm, and so happy.” He leaned closer, so he could rest his head on Jeno’s shoulder. “Then when I was seven, I had my very first real recital, in front of a crowd. My parents had organized the whole thing, invited all their family and friends to come see it. I walked out there in front of them, and I just… shut down. I couldn’t do it. I tried to, but…” He didn’t want to get into the nitty-gritty, embarrassing details, so instead he said, “I screwed it up. I can’t do anything, with that many people watching me. Call it stagefright, or… or anxiety. But that was the moment I realized I would never be a pianist. I would never be able to play for an audience without being afraid.”

Jeno reached down to grip Renjun’s hand, where it rested in his lap. “That’s awful, Renjun. I’m sorry.”

“It was my dream, but it wasn’t realistic. So that’s why I’m majoring in business instead. I don’t even care about business, honestly.” He laughed bitterly. “But I guess I didn’t really care what I did, if I couldn’t have the piano.” His eyes began to itch. Telling it to someone for the very first time was enough to make him tear up. “I only play at home now. It’s like my own personal thing, the piano. It still makes me happy. But I wish I wasn’t so afraid.”

“What is it that scares you? Just being around so many people?”

“It’s more than that. That recital was just the first time I realized it.” Renjun’s head drooped lower, nose pressing against the front of Jeno’s jacket. He smelled just like the record shop, like dust and the glow of fairy lights and happiness. “I remember when I was in high school, I used to do anything so no one would notice me. I wouldn’t go to the bathroom during class, no matter how badly I had to — I didn’t want to raise my hand or talk because I was scared of them looking at me. I would sit there completely silent in the back of the room, holding it so long sometimes I’d have to keep shaking my legs just to distract myself.”

Jeno’s other hand reached to tap at the bottom of Renjun’s chin, turning his face up to meet his eyes. “That doesn’t seem healthy. Have things gotten better since then?”

“A little. College kind of forced me to get better.” There had been no way to avoid new people and new places during his first weeks at Reddings. This had been a good thing, because he’d had to become braver to survive it. But now that college was not new and he’d turned it into a regular routine, he was sinking back into a rut. Only getting drinks at the one cafe, only eating dinner at the sandwich shop. It had become easy to be stationary and avoid his problems. “But I don’t know anymore.” _What was it Yangyang had said?_ “Sometimes, if no one pushes me to try something, I end up going nowhere.”

“Is that something you want my help with?” Jeno asked. “Do you want me to help push you?”

Renjun shook his head. “I want to be someone who can push myself. I don’t want to rely on other people for everything.”

“It’s okay to ask for help.”

“I know.” Renjun inched away on the bench. He folded his hands in his lap, squinting down at them through the unspilled tears. “I just… feel so useless sometimes. I’m not fun to be around. I ruined that concert. And now, if you wanted to go somewhere, I’d just be a burden.”

“You aren’t a burden.”

Renjun didn’t respond. They sat in silence in front of the piano.

Jeno put a hand on Renjun’s arm. “What about the rest of that house tour, huh? Might make you feel better. Take your mind off.”

Renjun breathed in for four seconds, held it, breathed out for eight. The tension began to dissipate. The tears began to recede. He could see Jeno clearly again, and was thankful for him.

“Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”

They trailed through the rest of the downstairs. Jeno stopped at the glass sliding door to stare out at the pool, mouth open in amazement. He was also in awe of the expensive marble kitchen counters and the huge, heavy desk in Renjun’s father’s office. It was just like when Renjun had had friends over as a kid, and they’d gawked at every little thing. He found he didn’t mind it now, though — Jeno’s gawking face was too adorable to be bothered by.

Renjun led him up the stairs, and turned the corner into his bedroom.

Jeno smiled as soon as he walked in the door. “It’s just what I imagined your room to look like.”

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno. Tidy. Simple. The color —” He touched the blue-gray wall. “Just what I pictured. Blue reminds me of you.”

Renjun laughed in surprise. “Why?”

“It suits you. Your personality.”

“What, like, ‘blue’ as in ‘sad?’”

“Of course not.” Without invitation, he walked to Renjun’s bed and sat at the end of it. His gaze floated up to the blue ceiling. “Blue like the ocean. Calm, I guess. Soft. But there’s a lot of depth to it, too. Stuff churning under the surface.” He laid back, arms stretched across the blanket. “Some of it, I found out just a few minutes ago. I wanna know more about that stuff under the surface.”

Renjun watched him affectionately from the doorway. Jeno was so good at making him feel special. No one had ever made him feel special like that before. If there was anyone in the world he could tell that kind of stuff to, it was him.

Renjun crossed to the bed and laid down beside Jeno, head on his arm. They stared up at the ceiling the way Renjun usually did, except there was no music, just the sound of their breathing. Renjun’s room was his safe place. Jeno seemed so naturally a part of it. He was Renjun’s safe place now, too.

He rolled over, propping up on an elbow to look down at Jeno’s face. Jeno raised a hand and swept it through Renjun’s hair, moving it away from his eyes.

Renjun sunk for a kiss. It was gentle at first, more adoring than wanting. Jeno met it enthusiastically, the hint of his teeth tugging at Renjun’s bottom lip. Renjun upped the ante to match it — he slipped his tongue into Jeno’s mouth, taking it deeper, and Jeno’s tongue pressed back. Renjun shifted to throw his leg over Jeno’s waist, straddling him. He’d never taken control like that, but he was becoming less satisfied with passivity. He wanted Jeno to know how much he wanted him, unequivocally. Surprised at the forwardness, Jeno groaned mid-kiss. Renjun surprised him more by taking his hand and guiding it to rest on his ass, right where it had been the other night. _Free real estate,_ he thought, letting Jeno have it; Jeno responded by giving his ass a gentle squeeze. This really, _really_ turned Renjun on. He was about three seconds away from tearing all of Jeno’s clothes off and kissing every part of him he could reach.

“Renjun, your father just got home —”

Renjun lifted his head and turned towards the door. His mother stood there, seemingly frozen mid-gasp, shoulders raised to her pearl earrings and eyes bulging like Nancy’s dog’s.

She quietly shut the door as she left.

“Oh my god.” Renjun thudded his head against Jeno’s collarbone. “Oh my god.”

“Well. This is embarrassing.”

“ _Embarrassing?_ Try _mortifying._ ” Renjun was red as a lobster. Jeno could probably feel the burn of his forehead through his shirt. “I can’t believe my mother just walked in on us making out.”

“How much do you think she saw?”

“She definitely saw your hand on my butt. It was pointed right in her direction.” Renjun collapsed so he was lying down right on top of Jeno, burying his face in the crook of his neck. This was like something out of a nightmare, or a sitcom. Walking in on while being French-kissed and fondled by your boyfriend. It was so absurd, Renjun had to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Jeno asked wryly.

Renjun was giggling uncontrollably now, muffled against Jeno’s shirt. “It’s so ridiculous —” he managed between breaths, “— I can’t believe —”

Jeno started laughing too. He wrapped his arms around Renjun’s middle and held him there, laughs mixing.

Renjun was not afraid of Jeno meeting his parents anymore — he decided that if he could survive _that_ , dinner would be easy. At least they had an icebreaker.

—

Renjun had never been to the bubble tea shop in town. He hadn’t even known it existed, until Jeno texted him yesterday and asked if he wanted to go.

He’d spent the night before looking over the menu online, choosing what he would order in advance, that way it would be impossible to screw it up. He would pre-learn The Process. He would conquer the bubble tea shop.

His father drove him there in the afternoon.

“So,” he said. “This thing with you and Jeno — it’s pretty serious?”

“ _Dad,”_ Renjun whined.

“I’m just curious. Do you see it being long-term? Like, maybe marriage material?”

Renjun watched his father’s playful smirk from the corner of his eye. Then he crossed his arms with a humph and looked pointedly out the window. “How am I supposed to know? We’re only twenty. We aren’t even thinking about that kind of stuff.”

“Me and your mom got married at twenty-one.”

“But you guys are old-fashioned. That’s not how the kids do it these days.”

His father laughed. “I guess I don’t really understand your generation.”

Renjun pressed his nose to the window, hiding the beginnings of a smile. He was glad his father liked Jeno. At dinner, they’d gotten on strangely well. His father had even talked to Jeno about politics and the economy, and Jeno had been able to keep pace with shocking competence.

“How’d you know all that stuff?” Renjun had whispered to him, leaning over the table.

“I read the newspaper.”

“The newspaper?”

“Yeah. So I’m not totally out of touch.” He’d jabbed Renjun gently on the arm. “Unlike some people.”

“Full of surprises,” Renjun had muttered, as Jeno and his father had dived back into discussion about the current baseball season.

Presently, he stepped out of his dad’s car on the sidewalk in front of the bubble tea shop. His dad rolled the window down, and called out after him, “You’re coming home after, right?”

“Yeah. Jeno’s gonna give me a ride.”

“I’m holding you to it. No staying the night. Not till you’ve been dating for at least a month.”

“Oh my god.” Renjun stroked his sideburns, glancing up and down the street in case Jeno showed up out of nowhere. “Dad, I’m an adult.”

“Am I not allowed to be concerned about someone taking advantage of your innocence?”

“I’m not _that_ innocent.”

His father’s eyebrows flew up. “Since when?”

Jeno turned the corner down the street, catching sight of Renjun and waving. Renjun slapped the door of his dad’s car. “Roll your window up.”

His father chortled, rolled the window, and drove away.

“Hey.” Jeno caught up to Renjun in front of the shop. He pulled him in for a quick kiss, and said, “How’s it going?”

“Good. My mom has begun crocheting you a sweater. I think that’s a good sign.”

Jeno grinned, walked to the glass door of the bubble tea shop, and held it open for Renjun. “I eagerly await the final product.”

“Don’t get too excited. She’s a terrible crocheter. She tried to make me a pair of mittens over the winter but the loops were so big my fingers went right through them.”

There was a short line to the register. Renjun went to the end of it, and immediately began rocking on his feet, fingers curling and uncurling into the ends of his sleeve. He called to mind his order he’d planned last night — _lychee milk tea with popping strawberry pearls —_ and repeated it over and over to himself. A little last minute practice before the big moment.

“Are you okay?” Jeno asked, scanning him from head-to-toe skeptically.

“I am fine,” Renjun answered stiffly. “I am a perfectly normal and capable human being.”

“Yeah. You look nervous, though.” Jeno blinked, and a sudden understanding shone in his eyes. He seemed to remember what they’d talked about on the piano bench. “Do you want me to order it for you?”

Renjun pursed his lips to hide his fear, and patted his wallet in his back pocket. “No. I can handle myself. I’m gonna be paying, by the way.”

“Sure,” Jeno said. “Get moving then, Rich Boy.” He nudged Renjun ahead to the register, where the line had cleared.

The girl at the register had hot pink nails and a messy bun. _It’s only one person,_ Renjun told himself. _Only one stranger. You can do this._

The girl smiled a dimpled smile as Renjun approached, calling cheerfully, “Hello! What can I get you today, sir?”

 _Sir._ Renjun was caught off-guard by it. Wasn’t that how people usually addressed his dad? Did he _look_ like a forty-something businessman? Did she call teenagers sir, too? It took him a few seconds to regroup from her unexpected first attack.

“Uh. Hi.” He put his hands on the counter, then thought that might be weird, and snapped them back. “Can I get a lychee milk tea with popping strawberry pearls?” He stumbled over the _popping,_ making it more like _pop-ppp-ping_.

“Sure!” If she noticed the stammer, she didn’t show it. She went to hit a key on the register. Her finger froze midway. “Oh, I’m sorry! We’re actually all out of lychee flavor today. Can I get you something else?”

A second blow. He reeled back slightly from the counter, his foolproof plan collapsing in flames before his eyes. He looked at Jeno, who gently placed a hand at the small of Renjun’s back and nudged him back towards the register.

“Uh,” he tried. “Uh. What other flavors are there?”

The girl tapped a pink nail to a little menu board at the front of the register. It listed approximately one million different flavors. He stared at it, unable to process anything he was reading, knowing he was taking ages as his brain lagged behind. Why were there so many options? Who the hell would order cotton candy flavor? Why could he not choose, when it was so inconsequential?

Finally, he gave up and defaulted to the first flavor on the menu. “I’ll have the banana one, then.”

“Okay. What size?”

“Small?” _If they are all out of small cups, I will burn this store to the ground._

“Okay. Anything else?”

Jeno stepped in and ordered his drink. Renjun quickly fumbled for his wallet, trying to dig his card out. It was stuck in its slot. When he yanked it out, a bunch of pennies fell onto the tile floor and rolled on their edges before settling with rattly dings. He stooped to get them, but Jeno put a hand on his arm and said, “I’ll get them. You just go ahead and pay.”

“Oh — okay…” Renjun walked around Jeno, who crouched on the floor, to the credit card machine. He swiped it. Nothing happened.

“It’s a chip one,” the girl said. “You put it in at the bottom.”

Renjun turned his card over at least three times to find the right orientation, and stuck it into the slot. The beep it made was like a death knell.

When they got to their table, Renjun’s knees were quaking.

“You alright?” Jeno asked.

Renjun thumped his drink on the table. “I am victorious,” he said, though he only half-felt it. “I survived.”

“You sound like you just fought a war.”

“I practically did.” He dropped into his seat and sighed. All the stress melted away. He didn’t have to talk to anymore strangers. It was just him and Jeno, and they were on a date, and he was going to enjoy it. Enjoying it meant forgetting the insignificant things. The girl at the register would not remember this interaction by tomorrow. It would usually haunt him for days, but this time, he told himself he would not let it. It felt like the smallest bit of progress.

Jeno reached across the table and took Renjun’s hand. He rubbed his thumb in a circle on its back, slowly, something for Renjun to time his breathing to.

Renjun felt suddenly unafraid, for what seemed like the first time in his life.

—

They left the shop halfway done with their tea, continuing to sip at them as they strolled down the sidewalk. Spring was in full force, shining down on them so bright it was nearly blinding. Renjun pulled off his flannel and tied it at his waist, while Jeno took off his denim jacket and tossed it over one shoulder.

“Hey,” Jeno said. “I was gonna ask you — do you wanna come over to my place for a little bit?”

“Your place?” Renjun’s straw caught at the corner of his mouth, and he took another long sip in consideration. “Where is it?”

“Not far. I walked here.”

Renjun looked around. They were pretty firmly in their city’s downtown, which meant there weren’t any residential areas, so far as he knew, for quite a ways. “Where, exactly?”

“I’ll show you.” Jeno turned the corner onto Main Street, where the shops lined the streets like walls. Brick buildings with awnings over doors, streetlights with banners bearing the town’s logo, barrels with budding flowers lining the roadside. Most of the shops here were local ones, like an Ethiopian restaurant and an insurance broker and a bakery with a chalkboard out front listing their daily specials. Jeno turned towards the shopfront of a used bookstore. There was a door at the side of the shopfront that he opened. A bunch of mailboxes lined the inside wall, and in front of them was a staircase.

“Oh,” Renjun whispered. “Are there apartments up here?”

“What did you think? That it was empty on the upper floors?”

“I dunno.” He followed Jeno up, old stairs creaking under his feet. “I guess I thought they were offices or something.”

At the top of the stairs they turned down a dusty hall, with four apartment doors lining it. Jeno went to the one at the very end, twisted the knob, and pushed inside.

The apartment was small, its rooms squashed together and running into each other. From the mat where he took off his shoes, Renjun could see into the kitchen, the living room, the bathroom, and one bedroom with its door left open. Directly ahead was the window out onto the fire escape, with a red hummingbird feeder perched on a hook, just like Jeno had said. In the space between the window and the kitchen counter was a tiny table with a gingham cover, and three mismatched chairs at its sides. Renjun’s eyes roved up front the table to the counter, glancing over a loaf of Wonderbread and a half-full coffee cup with “Best Mom” painted on the side.

Out from the open bedroom came a short woman with long dark hair, an oversized t-shirt, and Jeno’s familiar, crescent-eyed smile.

“Oh my gosh!” She ran over to Renjun and immediately pulled him into a big, overbearing hug. “You must be Renjun! You are so incredibly cute!”

“Ah —” Renjun strained back to avoid being strangled, and said, “Yeah. That’s me.”

She released him, then pulled him right back to cradle his face in her hands, studying him. “Oh gosh. Even cuter than I imagined. Jeno, why didn’t you tell me he was this cute?”

“I thought I did.”

“You didn’t do him justice!” She spun back around and power-walked into the kitchen. “Do you want a drink, Renjun? Or a snack? Oh! I should make some brownies! Or maybe —”

Jeno touched Renjun’s shoulder and whispered in his ear, “Sorry. She can be a little intense.”

“That’s okay.” He watched Jeno’s mother flit from counter to counter, pulling down flour and sugar and a few eggs from the fridge. She was a hummingbird, just like Jeno had said — speedy and small and never-tiring. And for someone so delicate looking, Renjun could tell from the way he still felt the squeeze of her hug that she was surprisingly strong.

Jeno steered Renjun towards a closed door to their left. When it swung open, Renjun was met by an exposed brick wall plastered with posters, fairy lights strung along bookshelves, and a precarious-looking wooden stand by the window stacked high with vinyl sleeves and a record player. It looked like the kind of room he’d seen in movies before, though a little messier and more authentic — dirty t-shirt on the floor, college textbooks with a hundred sticky note tabs poking out, a dresser with a broken drawer. The posters were of bands, some of whom Renjun recognized, like The Cure above Jeno’s bed, and some he’d yet to even hear Jeno talk about — the Clash, the Sex Pistols, the Ramones pasted near the nightstand.

“Wow,” Renjun said. He walked to the open window, where the blinds fluttered gently in the breeze. Directly below was the bookstore shopfront, and the street in front of it, cars whooshing by. It seemed like a noisy place to live — not like Renjun’s house, pushed back from the road, private and framed by trees. He tried to imagine what it might have been like to grow up in that apartment, right in the busy center of town, always something to do, always a stranger to run into.

“Is it loud, living right above the street?” he asked.

Jeno plopped down on his bed, watching Renjun’s awed expression as he stared out over the downtown. “It can be. But that’s a kind of music too, right? The sound of the city.”

“Is it?”

“I think that’s a poem or something.”

Speaking of music, Renjun picked up one of the records on the stand, flipping the sleeve over. Jeno had a lot of them, and there were even more on the shelf behind him. Renjun dug through the pile until he found _Disintegration,_ brightening up at the sight of its familiar cover. He pulled the record out and placed it on the turntable. He’d never done that before, but he’d seen Jeno do it enough times that he thought he could figure it out. Carefully, he set the needle on the edge, and it zipped into place as the first track began to play.

“Good choice,” Jeno told him. Renjun sat down on the bed beside him, leaning his head on his shoulder, listening to the sound of _Plainsong_ overlaid with the honks of cars and distant dog barking. In the midst of everything, the chaos and the buzz and the too-big town, Renjun felt a sense of peace.

Jeno shifted so he could give Renjun a kiss. His breath and his love filled Renjun like bubbles, popping in his stomach in ticklish bursts. Renjun couldn’t help but laugh against Jeno’s lips, breaking it accidentally, then pulling Jeno back by the collar of his shirt, stealing another kiss, breaking it again with a delighted giggle.

“You’re awfully funny, you know,” Jeno murmured with a smile, cupping Renjun’s cheek, their noses still touching.

“Funny?” Renjun repeated. “You think so?”

“Of course I do. That’s why I like you.” Jeno looked into Renjun’s eyes, soft but intense at the same time, and Renjun didn’t look away. “Remember when I asked you for your phone number that first time? You gave it to me, and then when you left, I could see you out the window. You walked out on the sidewalk and started dancing like you were alone in your room or something, and I couldn’t stop laughing for ages. It was so cute. And funny, too.”

Renjun blushed. “You saw that?”

“Yeah. I liked it, though.”

Renjun remembered when he’d been in the club bathroom, crying, wondering what it was Jeno saw in him. Now, he was brave enough to ask about it. “Tell me what else you like about me,” he said.

“Huh?” Jeno snorted in disbelief. “What, are you fishing for compliments?”

“Yes. You think I’m funny.” He kissed Jeno softly on his brow, right on top of the silver ring. He’d wanted to do that for ages. “What else?”

“Well. You’re kind, and you take an interest in things that other people like. You’re cute. You’re shy, but you’re brave, too. You play the piano so beautifully, though I only just found out about it.”

Renjun moved lower, kissing the side of Jeno’s mouth. “Keep going.”

“You’re smart, even if you don’t think so yourself sometimes. You make me happy every time I see you. Is that enough?”

Renjun kissed him again, on his neck, by the crest of his Adam’s apple. He could smell Jeno’s body, his cologne and the natural scent beneath it, distinctly _boy_ but in a good way. “No. It’s never enough.”

“Your sass. Already told you that once, but I really like your sass.” Jeno paused, relishing the sensation of Renjun’s mouth on his skin, the soft warmth of the tip of his tongue. “And your ass. Love your ass.”

“Is there any way I can get that taken off the list? Doesn’t quite fit the vibe.”

“Nope. It’s one of your best features.”

Renjun laughed so hard it echoed, drowning out the music. Jeno scooped him up into his arms and laid him down over the bedsheets, kissing him on the forehead and nose and eyelids and the apples of his cheeks. Renjun nabbed Jeno by the chin so he could kiss him back, slowly and openly on the mouth, trying to make sure Jeno knew he loved him, because Renjun had never felt more loved in his life.

“Jeno,” called his mother from the kitchen. “Wanna come help me for a second? I need your muscles to stir this batter.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jeno called back. He gave Renjun one more swift kiss, then got up, flattened his wrinkled shirt, and went into the kitchen.

Renjun watched them through the open door. Jeno, probably a foot taller than his mother, taking the big metal bowl from her hands and working the wooden spoon into it. His mother, turning on the sink to wash a measuring cup, swaying slightly to the music that filtered in from Jeno’s room. Then Jeno began swaying too, both of them in time. His mother bumped her hip into his, and he nearly dropped the bowl, but Renjun could hear his laugh, clear, sticking in his head like a melody. He wished he could play it on repeat, on permanent loop.

Renjun shut his eyes on Jeno’s bed, and thought there was no place on earth he would rather be. He did not miss the blue walls of his bedroom.

“Renjun,” Jeno’s mother called. “Are you staying for dinner?”

“Yes,” Renjun answered, though he wished he could stay forever.

—

Jeno took Renjun home in the late evening, when the sky had already gotten dark and the streetlights had already switched on. Jeno’s mother had said he could stay the night if he wanted, but Renjun decided to be a good boy and go back like his father had told him. They had plenty of time for midnight kisses and tangled limbs. There was no need to rush, no need to push — Renjun had already fallen.

Before he got on the back of Jeno’s scooter, he put his earbuds in.

“What are you doing?” Jeno asked.

“You know I don’t like the sound that thing makes. Sounds like it’s gonna fall apart. Makes me nervous.” He tapped the hard plastic of one earbud. “This way, I can drown it out.”

“Whatever helps.” Jeno patted the seat. Renjun took his place, arms wrapping around Jeno’s waist, cheek against his back. The scooter shuddered to life beneath them. Renjun could hear it still, but only barely beneath the music in his ears. Lightning-crack drums, thunder-rumble bass, a beautiful storm to sweep him to safety.

When they pulled onto the downtown street, Renjun’s first impulse was to close his eyes the way he had last time. But then he remembered that he was trying to be braver, and opened his eyes against the wind. The road ahead of him was full of lights, headlights and traffic lights and lights in building windows, stark against the dark sky. They shimmered like diamonds in a sea of black sand. Treasure, unburied. Just as he did in the record shop, Renjun squinted his eyes, forcing the lights out of focus so that they blurred into each other, flickering between the shallow and deep fields of his vision. He felt like he was in a dream, or in heaven. He gripped Jeno tighter, feeling his solidness, to assure himself that this was real.

The lights slid along like a beaded curtain. Renjun raised his head higher, taking every inch of the nighttime skyline in, and he wondered if the world would look as beautiful if he had anybody else there in his arms. Maybe Jeno made the lights brighter. Maybe he made Renjun shine brighter, too.

 _Friday I’m In Love_ came on shuffle.

Renjun smiled. Above his head, endless, the lights danced their clumsy waltz.

**Author's Note:**

> now i can stop making tweets about CAS fic!!!
> 
> thank you all for reading, and thanks especially, of course, to elle for the prompt!! i kind of suspected this might be yours from the beginning, but reading until tomorrow about halfway through writing this fic kind of confirmed it haha. if i'd known that until tomorrow jeno had an eyebrow ring before, i might not have given him one here....... but i guess that only means that i wrote him to your tastes 😊😊😊 hope u enjoyed this one my love!! love u more than anything 😘 muah
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)


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